Must Be Tuesday
by Edrox
Summary: Harry is missing, Hermione is worried, Draco is being insufferable and Ron’s got a theory… it’s just another day at Hogwarts.


**Title: **Must be Tuesday

**Authors: **Nanouk and Roxy

**Beta Reader: **Alicia

**Category: **Humor

**Sub Category: **Romance

**Rating: **R

**Pairing: **Harry/Draco, mention of Hermione/Ron

**Spoilers: **SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoP

**Summary:** Harry is missing, Hermione is worried, Draco is being insufferable and Ron's got a theory… it's just another day at Hogwarts.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Notes: **This fic is Nanouk and Roxy's first collaboration. The original idea for this fic struck them in a NYC regurgitating toilet which comes as no surprise as inspiration is known to strike in the oddest places. Both authors would like to thank Alicia, their wonderful beta whom, while not having been in the NYC regurgitating toilet, helped a great deal once out of it. Both authors would also gladly direct you to the NYC regurgitating toilet in question in case, you too, would wish to be struck by inspiration.

**Must be Tuesday**

_Tuesday_

_8:45 PM _

_The Three Broomsticks_

It was long past dusk and a few wizards were hurrying down Hogsmeade's empty streets to their warm houses. As usual on Tuesdays, the Three Broomsticks was almost empty. Madam Rosmerta, the owner and bartender, was cleaning her bar, looking disapprovingly at the two Hogwarts students getting passably drunk in the far left corner. She sighed when the black-haired boy waved in her direction, asking for another bottle of Firewhisky. Maybe she should have refused to refill their glasses when the girl had started singing perverted versions of the Weird Sister's most famous hits, but after all, they were of age and paying customers. Her morals had nothing to do with it if students decided to get pissed. As long as they didn't break anything, it was none of her business. She had been young once too and business was business. Thus, she shrugged and brought a bottle to the round wooden table.

'D'you remember that one time you caught our dear head of house in his unmentionables?' asked the boy, his eyes bright with the rush of the alcohol.

The girl suppressed a giggle, appeared to be deep in thought for a good five seconds and then made a face.

'Please, don't remind me. I'm not that far from throwing up, I don't need that kind of visual!'

Obviously, the visual in question had caught up with her and she squealed in delight, not so disgusted by the memory after all.

'I wish I had been there,' the boy said. 'Even if I was disappointed when you told me he wore plain white underwear. I thought the man had taste!'

'Why, what did you expect? Boxers with dark mark impressions?'

She drank a shot of whisky and slammed the glass on the table a bit too forcefully.

'Pansy, you shouldn't joke about that. You know _he_ wouldn't approve,' he answered in a patronizing tone, hiding a smile behind his closed hand.

'Zabini, you're hopeless! How many times have I told you not to talk about Draco like that? Put him on an altar, make human sacrifices for him and call him Your Highness while you're at it. Please!'

Pansy sighed, visibly considering the idea herself. Blaise winked.

'If I remember correctly, I've heard sentences coming from _your_ mouth where you called him a god. If you'll grant me a few minutes, I might be able to be more precise about the circumstances and the facts.'

Blaise grinned. He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively while Pansy mock-hit him, trying to look outraged or at least shocked. Unfortunately, she was already too drunk to succeed in any of these.

'That was…before,' she blurted out.

'Before what?'

She stuck her tongue out, crossed her eyes then settled on pouting. The perfect spoilt child.

'Before he stopped bedding me and started to experiment with breast-less, hairier and less curvy human specimens'.

Blaise laughed. His laugh was rich, deep and perfectly measured – as was everything he ever did, Pansy noted in her dazed state.

'I think some people call them "boys",' he answered. 'And unfortunately, some of them are not breast-less. Take my word for it. You're not the one who's had to share a room with Vince and Greg for the last seven years. Lucky you.'

Blaise paused for dramatic effect.

This threw Pansy into such a fit of giggles that she nearly fell off her stool. When she had finally composed herself and was as certain as she could get that the room had stopped spinning, she noticed that Blaise's smile had dimmed a little. He had a dreamy expression and was gazing up into space, lost in some old nostalgic memory that only a glass of alcohol and reminiscences of good times with a dear friend could bring up again.

'You know,' he said more seriously, 'I miss him sometimes. I mean Draco… I do miss him. The friendship we had before he started his experimentations on my breast-less, hairier and less curvy person is not even there anymore. We're not friends and we're not lovers. Yet if that damn war starts again I might have to rely on him because Slytherin has made us brothers. It's impressive how far irony can get, don't you think?'

Pansy sobered up for a minute and shivered.

'Yeah, I know what you mean. Draco and I aren't involved anymore but I reckon I'm one of those who still know him best. I think he can't be just part of your life. He requires exclusivity, and once he's sucked everything he could out of you, he just doesn't need you anymore. Sure he'll be watching over you because, as you said, we're family, but he'll leave you like an empty shell all the same. You don't get to choose, that's how he is.'

Blaise remained silent, looking for the right thing to say. He shrugged and put his hand on Pansy's.

'I know it's hard on you now, but believe me, I also know how you feel. And I'm guessing this new unhealthy infatuation of his isn't helping at all.'

Pansy nodded and loosened her green and silver school tie.

'I also feel like we wouldn't belong by his side if it weren't for Slytherin,' she mused.

A few minutes later, Pansy bought a third bottle on their way out. The night was far from being over but they had to get back to Hogwarts before curfew, which was at ten o'clock. Students weren't supposed to be out of the castle at night, and even less in Hogsmeade. There were ways to leave unnoticed but if you weren't in at 10 o'clock, your absence would immediately be reported to the staff by a magical device that had been installed the year before. The castle itself was able to detect every student's magical signature and could tell who wasn't inside when it did the two daily checks. Nobody really understood how it worked except for Professor Dumbledore who orchestrated the whole thing.

Pansy grabbed Blaise with one arm, grabbed her last purchase with the other and they left the smoky pub, their eyes unfocused and their cheeks redder than usual.

_Tuesday_

_8.45 PM _

_Entrance Hall_

She was worried, but not in the way she always worried when the boys did their homework at the very last minute (despite the new magical agendas she had given them since they seemed to have 'misplaced' the previous ones). This time she was worried just like she had been when Harry had received his Firebolt in third year.

Hermione had a theory, very far-fetched yet probable, but still it remained just that: a theory without any proof whatsoever. It would explain the unjustified absences, the memory losses she believed were fake and all the rest.

She was trying to concentrate in order to make things clear but something was bothering her: a constant low noise like a fly buzzing around her and…

Oh, it was Ron.

'But really, Hermione! This would all add up, wouldn't it? It would explain Harry's bizarre behaviour the past few weeks! We have to go tell Dumbledore!' Ron said, completely unaware that his listener was, in fact, not listening at all.

'Maybe,' Hermione replied absentmindedly.

And Ron went on and on with his own theory that made Hermione reconsider the definition of the word 'far-fetched'. Ron's theory was far-fetched; she was just thinking outside the box.

Ron and Hermione had now reached the corridor leading to the Great Hall. There hadn't been any sign of Harry since the end of Potions earlier that day. He hadn't even showed for dinner. This rather unusual fact had happened a little too often recently in Hermione's opinion. It was nearly nine o'clock and it was a school night, where was Harry?

Well, obviously not here, she noted. The Great Hall had long since emptied and students were all in their respective Common Rooms – or at least were supposed to be. Three of them weren't for various reasons: Harry was missing, Hermione was looking for him and Ron, well, Ron was well on his way to becoming the new Rita Skeeter with that incredible scoop.

Hermione glanced at him. He was so caught up in his explanation that he wouldn't have noticed if Harry had been tap dancing in front of him, wearing only a roaring lion hat.

Once again, Hermione's thoughts were disturbed by another noise. Unlike Ron's constant, annoying drone, Peeves' high pitched singing was growing louder as the poltergeist approached.

At first, Hermione frowned, both because she had been disturbed and because she was trying to recognize the familiar, swinging rhythm. She soon recognized Slytherin's unmistakable single 'Weasley is our king'. She glanced back at Ron and noticed that he had stopped babbling and that his freckles had merged into one big red blotch in the middle of his face. Next step had to be air fuming out of his ears. Before she could even try to say anything-

'Peeves, what are you up to? And stop singing THAT SONG!' Ron yelled.

Peeves stopped singing and began humming 'Weasley is our king'. Peeves half accomplishing a student's order? That certainly was a first. But surely enough there was more to it: Peeves seemed very much concerned about hiding a couple of Dungbombs behind his silvery see-through back.

'Dungbombs, huh? Well, this might interest Filch.' Ron then paused to catch his breath and look for new accusations to throw at the poltergeist. 'Planning an attack on students and singing…' – new search for words – '…nonsensical lyrics, yeah, that's what it is!' Ron went on yelling.

Nonsensical? Malfoy's lyrics were perhaps horrible, outrageous and an insult to any existing kind of poetry but if there was one thing they were not, it was nonsensical. In fact, their meaning stood out so clearly that the Slytherins had adopted it as their House hymn and even Crabbe and Goyle had managed to remember them entirely.

Still, Hermione thought, this is no time for such a remark. She didn't think Ron could go any further than this shade of purple.

She looked back at Peeves – well, more exactly through Peeves – and stared at the Dungbombs and noticed someone coming in from the Entrance Hall and walking straight at them.

For half a second, Hermione hoped it would be Harry coming to tell them he had been at Hagrid's but her hopes were dashed as soon as her eye caught the sight of a blonde head wrapped in a dark cloak.

Yet another student not in his Common Room, Hermione sighed, her Head Girl's instincts getting the best of her. But this one was going to help her get some proof for that out-of-the-box theory of hers.

She looked back at Ron, who was still yelling at Peeves. He obviously hadn't noticed anything. Good, she thought.

'Fuh-forget about Filch,' Ron stuttered. 'I… I'm… I'm reporting you to… Dumbledore!' He grinned, proud of himself. 'He'll get you expelled!' Ron said at the top of his lungs.

'Dumbledore,' Hermione said. 'Yes, that's excellent. Go to Dumbledore and tell him… about Peeves and… Harry's behaviour!'

'As a matter of fact, I will. I'm going to his office this minute. Are you coming?'

'Me? Um, you know, I don't think so. Someone should keep looking for Harry. You never know, he might turn up anytime now.'

'I don't think so, Hermione. I think this time, it's serious, very serious indeed,' Ron said solemnly.

And with that, he turned on his heels and went up the stairs, holding his head high and shoulders back in a way that reminded Hermione of Percy. Peeves disappeared with an up-to-no-good smirk. Hermione didn't even try to go after him; she had more important business than a couple of Dungbombs.

She placed herself in the middle of the corridor, arms crossed and one foot nervously tapping on the floor, waiting for the figure she had seen in the Entrance Hall. When he came up to her, he lifted his pointed chin and adopted the same posture she had.

'Granger,' he said, his voice expressing neither surprise nor interest, just plain disdain.

'Malfoy,' she replied, just as coldly.

_Tuesday_

_8.45 PM _

_Slytherin Common Room_

The Slytherin Common room was calm – unusually calm. The only sound was the crackling of the fire that burnt bright green and…

'Where's Draco?' a dull, low voice said.

'I dunno,' an equally dull, low voice replied.

The Slytherin Common room was quiet as it only held two of its least bright, talkative and entertaining characters. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were both sitting on a couch, blankly looking at the green fire obviously lost in deep, philosophical thoughts.

'Where's Pansy?' Crabbe asked.

'I dunno. Where's Blaise?' Goyle replied.

A loud grumbling emitted by Crabbe's stomach broke this flat yet most thrilling conversation, allowing its participants to move onto another major point.

'I think I'm hungry,' Crabbe said.

Now this is where their verbal exchange reached its climax.

'I think I am too. Maybe we could go to the kitchens.'

'Yeah, maybe we could,' Crabbe replied, still staring at the fire.

Another heavy but yet profound silence fell between them. They didn't need words; their stomachs were speaking for them.

'Well, shall we?' Goyle asked.

'Yes, let's go.'

And with these two deep thoughts, loyal Crabbe and faithful Goyle got up and headed for the kitchens.

_Tuesday_

_8.55 PM _

_The Headmaster's Office_

Hogwarts' headmaster was peering out the window of his unusual and intriguing office. He was very well aware that a few students weren't where they were supposed to be and he even knew the reasons why.

Professor Dumbledore played the old fool and pretended not to know half the goings-on around the castle at night. He smiled as he imagined Professor McGonagall's indignant reaction should she ever find out.

As far as tonight was concerned, he had already spotted two pairs of students walking through the grounds. His eyes were now carefully following a third couple, Hagrid and Fang, coming out of the Forbidden Forest and quickly heading towards Hagrid's cabin.

The half giant was spending most of his time off in the forest, probably breeding some new kind of magical animal. This fact hadn't gone unnoticed and Hogwarts' students were already starting to worry. Albus Dumbledore smiled again; he had his own ideas on the matter and therefore thought that students were perfectly right to panic, but he also knew that things would be fine as always –apart from the usual cuts, burns, bruises and nervous collapses.

The portraits of Hogwarts' previous headmasters and headmistresses were whispering to each other and one of them, Professor Dippet, told Dumbledore that he would be having company any minute now.

The headmaster sighed in a way that neither betrayed exasperation nor exhaustion, but rather kindness and indulgence with a touch of amusement towards his visitor. Just as he knew that one of the two couples he had seen wandering in the grounds that night were more than just friends, Dumbledore also knew who was about to cross the threshold of his office.

Ron arrived flushed and out of breath, and the fact that he had been yelling at Peeves a few minutes earlier had nothing to do with it. Ron knew the one and only truth, or at least he believed with all his might that he did. This explained why the headmaster couldn't suppress the smile that was curving the corners of his lips when all the portraits fell silent and Ron stepped in.

'I'm sorry to bother you so late, Professor Dumbledore, but -' a dramatic pause, chest puffed out, deep inhalation, '- it's a matter of life and death. Hogwarts is in danger.'

'Really?' Dumbledore said. He looked at Ron through his half-moon spectacles and faked a concerned look as he didn't really have the heart to take away the boy's moment. 'Please, do sit down and explain, Mr Weasley.'

'It's about Harry. I think -' another dramatic pause, '- I believe he's being possessed by You-Know-Who.'

'Really?' the headmaster asked, his voice soft and gentle.

Professor Dumbledore couldn't help but be amazed and fascinated by the imagination of some of his students. They saw Lord Voldemort lurking everywhere!

'Tell me, Mr Weasley, what can possibly make you believe that Harry is not acting of his own will and being possessed by Lord Voldemort?'

Ron started at the mention of the dark wizard's name and took some time to recover his bearings. The headmaster inwardly sighed at the conversation that was ahead.

_Tuesday_

_9.00 PM_

_Entrance Hall_

'I'd love to stay here and let you stare slack-jawed at me all night, Granger, but if you've not decided to do something more interesting with your mouth…'

Hermione choked at Malfoy's insinuations but he went on speaking before she could express her disgust.

'… such as talking,' he continued, 'you'd better head back to your Head Girl duties. Some of us here do have social lives that don't involve being followed around by the less attractive member of the Weasley clan currently attending this school.' He looked very smug.

'Do you love the sound of your own voice that much?' countered Hermione, already exasperated by the Slytherin.

Malfoy actually seemed to consider the question for a few seconds.

'Why, yes,' he answered. 'I'm glad you noticed my crystalline voice that matches the dashing Malfoy looks.'

Hermione snorted uncharacteristically.

'Ooh, that hurt,' Draco said, smirking. 'I'm sensitive, you know.'

'Are you quite finished?' asked Hermione.

'Am I finished? Absolutely not! I could go on talking about my charming self for hours.'

He paused, savouring the moment.

'Yeah, some people think me vain,' he added, obviously pleased with himself.

The smile plastered on his face wasn't reaching his eyes though.

'This is getting ridiculous! Could you drop the selfish megalomaniac act for a minute? Oh, I forgot, it's not a mask. You truly are a bastard.'

Malfoy's smile turned into a sneer.

'Oh, Granger, I'm shocked. D'you kiss your mother with that mouth?'

Hermione sighed.

'Why do I even bother?' she asked herself.

Then she looked at Malfoy. He was slim, angular and pale; just as he had been when they'd first met, though there was nothing childish about him now. He was still as annoying and full of himself as he had been six years ago but there was nothing pure left, no innocence. His eyes were a light shade of grey that was very unsettling and gave him a piercing stare. Such a cold gaze could only belong to someone who had grown up too fast and seen too much. Malfoy was the kind of person that you couldn't look in the eye.

It was an unwritten rule in Slytherin that every student obeyed him. He had even won the respect of some of the oldest Ravenclaws, and it was a well-known fact that he held Seventh Year meetings once a month to discuss Charms. Hermione didn't get him and was quite intrigued by him, and also a bit miffed that she had never been invited to one of those meetings. How could an obnoxious person like Malfoy have people who looked up to him? What could he have done to earn such respect? He showed no kindness or sympathy to others and didn't associate with people unless there was something in it for him. Hermione shared a few NEWT classes with him and she knew that he was very clever and that was what frightened her the most. He was as good as her in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes and she'd heard he was even working on a special project with Professor Flitwick. If a mind as sharp as his had access - as she believed - to dark magic, the future that lay ahead was very dark indeed.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and noticed that Malfoy hadn't moved an inch. He had his left hand in his pocket and was twirling his wand with the fingers of his right hand. The blond was sneering.

'Like what you see, Granger?'

That's when Hermione almost lost it. She wasn't as short-tempered as Ron, but even her patience had limits and Malfoy's attitude made her want to throw him off the Astronomy Tower. She drew her wand while her mind was already looking for the curse that would wipe his sneer off for a long time. She caught herself a second before the spell escaped her lips and turned on her heels.

'You're not worth wasting my time,' she said over her shoulder.

She walked away, muttering under her breath and when something soft slid over her bare wrist, she started and poked the air in front of her.

'Nobody turns away from a Malfoy,' Draco said in a cold, rushed voice. 'You should know better.'

Hermione turned on him, her face red with anger, wand pointed towards him.

'Should I?' she bellowed.

Malfoy took a step back. One could have thought that the boy was afraid of the Head Girl but his grin said the opposite. He was still playing with her.

Hermione mustered the courage to lock eyes with him. She held back the shiver that went through her. There really was something odd about his look.

'You know, you can't walk around like you own the place and talk to me as if I was another one of you minions. Besides, I won't let you keep on doing whatever you're doing to Harry -'

Malfoy's eyes flashed. He raised his hand, silencing Hermione.

'You have ten minutes,' he said in a blank voice.

_Tuesday_

_9.15 PM_

_Potions Classroom_

Little did poor Rose Zeller know what was going to happen to her she left the comfortable Hufflepuff common room that evening.

She didn't really fancy meeting her Potions teacher out of class but she didn't have any other choice. Her last essay of the term was due on that day and she was determined to get it right before her exams.

It had all begun when, just after the last afternoon class, a first year was refusing to take the potion Madam Pomfrey had given him to stop sneezing because it supposedly tasted like a dead Garden Gnome's boiled feet. Then, bothered by the constant moaning and whining, a seventh year had violently cast the _Voratus!_ spell on his housemate so the child would swallow the potion and he could go back to deciphering his ancient runes. There had been so much force behind the spell that the first year had fallen backwards, unconscious.

When he had come to, his eyes were alight with hunger and he had launched himself on the first thing edible-looking thing, which had been Rose's Potions parchment, gently drying on the table near the window. She had watch in disbelief as he greedily stuffed his mouth with her essay.

Panicking, Rose had asked a prefect if there was anything she could do, like open him up and retrieve the lost essay. The girl had only frowned before putting her arm around the first year's shoulders and leading him to the Hospital Wing.

Six hours later, the boy still had ink all over is face and was coughing up papier-mâché and Rose had just finished re-writing her essay.

She hurried to the door, cursing under her breath at the wasted time.

Rose was not brilliant at Potions, but she was doing okay and she was so very quiet and mousy that she was almost certain Snape didn't even know her name.

Oh boy, that was going to change.

She had been staring at the Potions Classroom door for a while less sure of herself after all.

Knowing that time was against her, she finally reached for the door, ready to knock. However, it opened just before her knuckles made contact with the wood.

There she was standing in the dungeons corridor, her fist suspended in the air, a few inches away from a very crooked nose that unmistakably belonged to Severus Snape.

Rose didn't think she had ever seen him looking so scary. His hair was unkempt and as oily as ever and his olive skin was almost glowing in the dark, half-lit corridor.

But what frightened Rose the most was the enraged look in her teacher's eyes; he looked so angry that she wouldn't have been surprised to see smoke coming out of his nostrils.

She made a mental note not to bother him _ever_ again, no matter what was at stake.

Suddenly remembering that she wouldn't need to knock now, she lowered her trembling hand and put on an innocent face

She could have done without the trembling, she mused, but that was still better than fainting at her teacher's feet.

'How did you…' she stuttered.

'What..are..you..doing..here…Zeller?'

He waited, still as a statue, obviously trying to keep whatever calm he had left.

_Well, I guess he knows my name after all._

'Professor Snape,' stated Rose weakly. 'I'm sorry to interrupt though I don't know if I am interrupting something but if it's the case then I'm sorry because interrupting busy people is so not something I usually do. Was there something to be interrupted? No, forget I ever said that. Please.'

Great, she had turned on the babble-mode, which was the first sign of extreme discomfort. Next stage would be the moist hands and then the bad breath. And she didn't even want to think about the sweating part.

'I'm waiting, Zeller.'

Snape's voice echoed in the corridor like a full-grown Mountain Troll's growl would in a cathedral. That was saying something.

_Okay, now's the time to be brave._

In a few, almost babble-free words, she explained the situation to Snape.

'A fellow Hufflepuff ate your parchment and you had to rewrite it,' repeated Snape, mimicking Rose's pose.

For half a second, the third year could have sworn she had seen a glint of amusement in Snape's eyes but the feral smile reappeared all to soon and she took a step backwards.

'Do you realize, Zeller, that you're exactly five hours and twenty-seven minutes late to hand in your parchment. I've finished marking all the essays. You would have had better chances bringing your little friend here so I could retrieve your essay from his stomach. Nevertheless, seeing your lack of talent in analysing and writing about potions, your parchment is eminently suited to becoming a waste product.'

Rose swallowed uneasily, a drop of cold sweat running down her spine. She could cope with an angry teacher, but sarcasm was a bit too much. She opened her mouth to say something, anything – she was even ready to beg so as not to fail Potions this term. Unfortunately, all that came out was a weak groan at being so hopeless.

She was startled when Snape spoke again.

'Well, as I certainly don't want to see you in my Remedial Potions class, you'd better come in so I can mark your parchment, which looks very thin, I might add.'

He plucked the essay from Rose's hand and walked inside the classroom slowly, drawing his wand. He pointed it to the back of the room and muttered a charm. Rose heard a distinct 'click', then nothing.

Before entering the room, she let out a long sigh, her eyes almost lighting up with hope. She followed her teacher inside.

'Oh, I almost forgot,' said Snape over his shoulder. 'That's twenty points from Hufflepuff for handing in an essay late. And another ten points for interrupting a teacher.'

The trademark smirk was back.

'Close the door behind you,' said Snape.

He looked very pleased with himself.

He sat on his leather chair, threw Rose's essay on the desk and grabbed an elegant quill.

Mortified, Rose focused on looking at the tip of her shoes as she tried not to think about being alone in a room with her greasy Potions teacher.

She waited for what seemed like an eternity, the silence only broken by the bubbling of a cauldron in a corner and Snape's quill scratching on the paper.

Snape was muttering under his breath and Rose only caught a few words.

'Ridiculous…incomplete…totally off topic…adding asphodel here would only melt the floor…'

_God, it sounds even worse than usual._

'I'm highly disappointed,' began Snape.

'Why?'

'Five Points from Hufflepuff for talking when not asked.'

Thankfully at a loss for words, Rose opened her mouth a few times in an impressive impression of a musing goldfish.

'As I was saying, I'm highly disappointed. Your essay here is not worth the time you made me waste.'

He paused dramatically to let his words sink in.

'Fortunately for you, your classmates did no better. None of you will ever be gifted enough to understand the fine and delicate art of Potions. I have noticed this lack of talent for more than a decade. And you, Rose Zeller, are no exception.'

Snape stood up and walked towards her. Now Rose was really afraid.

'Less than four students in this school could one day qualify as a decent Potions Master. Wizarding children these days… they're more interested in waving their wands to provoke _sparks_! Nobody's interested in the subtlest art of magic anymore. '

Snape's face was turning red, anger etched deep into each line of his face.

'There were times when a teacher was shown more respect. I am a Potions Master, one of the few still alive in Europe. There might come a day when one of the students here is mortally wounded and will come crawling and begging for my help. Then I will at least get recognition for my work.'

Rose thought that Snape's ranting had made him forget about her presence. She thought wrong. As she took another step backwards, Snape glanced down at her again.

'You are just like every other child here, spoiled, ungrateful and disrespectful to your elders. You don't deserve to be here. You don't deserve half of what's given to you. You're almost inept concerning magic…'

'No, I'm not!' shouted Rose.

'I believe I said no talking,' barked Snape, his eyes darkening in cold anger. 'Brewing a potion requires more knowledge and finesse than any of you can ever hope to master. Attending classes is nothing more than an excuse to socialise enough to satisfy your adolescent hormones. Contrary to popular belief, we teachers do know what happens behind our backs while war rages outside these walls. We need help from neither a third eye nor magical devices of any sort to notice certain associations are taking place between students. Some people will mix no matter how hard we try to keep them apart -'

The sound of broken glass interrupted him. He looked more furious than ever.

He glanced furiously at the door at the back of the classroom.

Then he looked at Rose, who was backing towards the door looking very white, even though she wasn't quite sure what Snape's rant had been about.

'You,' he said, pointing at her. 'OUT!'

Rose didn't need to be told twice. She ran out of the classroom and down the corridor.

Then, when she was sure she was far enough away, she sank to the floor and burst into tears.

_Tuesday_

_9.25 PM_

_Hogwarts Grounds_

Pansy was leaning against one of the pillars of the Hogwarts gates, trying to catch her breath, her right hand clutching Blaise's forearm.

She brought the almost empty bottle of Firewisky to her mouth, downed its contents and weakly threw the now useless bottle away.

Suddenly, she took Blaise's hand and started to stroke it slowly.

'Isn't it a beautiful night?' she whispered.

Blaise laughed and tried to get his hand back. Unfortunately, Pansy was too drunk to notice and she gripped his hand with all her might.

'Pansy, come on,' said Blaise. 'We've already had this conversation'.

Pansy sighed.

'I know… But I'm so lonely! And you're a guy.'

She put her other hand on his chest. Blaise shook his head and tried to get her to stand, a sad smile on his lips.

'Come on, Parkinson, you're drunk.'

'Yeah, I am. But -' She seemed at a loss for words and cast a sideways glance up and down Blaise's body instead. 'You've got such nice… biceps.'

Blaise chuckled.

'Why, thank you, Pansy, it's nice of you to notice'.

Pansy put her head on Blaise's shoulder and closed her eyes.

'I am nice, you know I am. And I'm not too ugly either. It would just be for tonight. Friends help each other out, don't they? That's what they're for… so we're not lonely,' she said slowly.

Her breath smelled strongly of alcohol. Blaise, not too sober himself, took Pansy by the shoulders and put her up.

'That's enough,' he said.

'Don't you like me?' She sounded like a little girl.

'Pansy, you're way too girly for me and you know that. If it weren't for your breasts and lack of other appendages, you'd be the one.'

Her big eyes lit up.

'I would?'

Blaise burst out laughing and shoved Pansy on the path towards Hogwarts. His friend was having a hard time walking straight but at least she was still approximately able to walk on her own. They walked silently towards the castle.

As they reached the stone steps leading to the entrance of the school, Pansy turned towards Blaise. He jumped in surprise.

'Blaise, you're my friend, right?'

'Of course I am.'

'Good.'

She stumbled on the first step.

'Good,' she said again.

'Pansy, why do you need to ask?'

'Because if you're my friend, you won't tell anyone what I just told you, especially about the biceps part. Draco would never let me live that down. I swear I'll get revenge if I turn up at breakfast tomorrow and find out that everybody knows I tried to hit on my gayfriend.'

Pansy realized she'd just said 'breakfast'. At the thought of food, she turned green and put her hand over her mouth.

'Blaise, put a sobering charm on me, please.'

'I can't…'

'What do you mean, you can't?' asked Pansy desperately.

'I can't see why I should help if you can't hold your liquor like a…man!'

Blaise smirked. If looks could kill, Blaise would now be deader than dead.

'Why not?'

'You're a Slytherin. Slytherins don't need help. They learn from their own mistakes.'

'But I thought your were my friend?'

'I'm also a Slytherin.'

Pansy shook her head, climbed up a few steps and drew her wand out, pointing it towards at herself.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' warned Blaise.

'Would you just shut up!' Pansy said, her eyes flashing in irritation.

'Okay, blow your head up, Pansy. Why should I care?'

Blaise sat on the first step, his chin on his knees.

Pansy closed her eyes, mumbling under her breath, apparently trying to find the right spell. Suddenly, she stood still. Considering the quantity of whisky Pansy had absorbed that night, Blaise was quite pleased to hear her pronouncing the spell so clearly. As with most pure-bloods coming from old families, Pansy's Latin accent was perfect and when they were younger, he had been jealous of the ease with which she enunciated her spells. Unfortunately, Pansy's magical power wasn't so impressive and her pronunciation was more intimidating than its effects. The only person he knew at Hogwarts who was a really gifted spellcaster was Draco. His Latin was fluent and he had already succeeded in inventing a few spells of his own.

'_Petrificus Totalus_!'

Pansy let the words roll around her tongue.

Blaise didn't know what hit him. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he had not paid attention to Pansy, who had had a very nasty idea. At the last moment, she had changed her aim and tried to hit her friend with the full body-bind curse. Thankfully, he was sitting down so he avoided falling onto the cold stone steps.

Fortunately for Blaise, Pansy was more than a bit drunk and her aim wasn't true, so the curse only grazed his feet, giving him pins and needles.

Pansy was happily giggling, leaning on the great wooden doors at the entrance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When Blaise tried to stand up to cast a curse on Pansy, his feet were so numb that he immediately fell down again. Pansy squealed in delight and doubled over with laughter.

Irritated, Blaise cast a spell to put some feeling again in his feet and looked at Pansy. He had to get her into her dorm before she woke half the school.

Just as he was pushing the door open, he heard voices echoing in the entrance hall. One of them was unmistakably Draco's. Hoping to accidentally-on-purpose overhear something, Blaise stopped moving and put his hand over Pansy's mouth.

Blaise swore; the voices were too far away. They'd have to get inside if they wanted to hear more.

Pansy, who had calmed down a bit when she had recognized Draco's voice, put her head against the wood of the doors.

'He's talking with a girl,' she whispered. 'Do you think she's his new girlfriend?'

'I guess we'll find out' answered Blaise.

He slowly opened the door and quietly entered the room. He stood there, dumbstruck, as soon as he saw who was facing Draco.

Pansy was behind him and she looked over Blaise's shoulder before he could do anything.

What she saw had the effect Blaise dreaded. She burst out laughing again, immensely amused by what took place before her eyes.

Draco Malfoy was making small talk with Hermione Granger in the middle of the Entrance Hall.

Pansy's giggles evidently getting on his nerves, Draco took his wand, pointed it at the drunk girl and whispered '_Silencio'_ before pocketing his wand again.

Pansy put both hands to her throat, looking afraid. Then she threw a murderous glance at Draco and stomped out of the room.

Blaise still hadn't moved. He looked at Draco, then at Granger, who was tapping the floor with her foot, then at Draco again. He was bewildered, what could Draco have to do with Potter's sidekick at this time of night?

'Do you plan on staring all night?' Draco drawled. 'Because I can feel Granger's getting impatient to jump my bones.'

He ignored Hermione's infuriated look and went on talking to Blaise.

'Moreover, I'm sure you _want_ to find Parkinson before she gets lost in the dungeons and wakes the whole house.'

'Yeah…I mean, right,' answered Blaise.

But he still didn't move.

Draco arched a perfect eyebrow, which Blaise recognized as his facial expression number three: 'What the hell are you still doing here?'

Then, Blaise shrugged and left the room, casting a last glance at Granger, who looked more infuriated than ever.

He thought Pansy would be hard to find but she had stopped just around the corner, engaged in a stare fight with a suit of armour.

Once again that night, Blaise sighed.

_Tuesday_

_9.30 PM_

_Hagrid's Cabin_

'This might come a bit of a surprise, I know, but I really felt like we needed ter talk. It's been quite a while now… Yeh don' come ter see me as much as yeh used ter.' The half-giant was pacing his cabin nervously, playing with a scarf that bore the bright colours of red and gold.

Hagrid's rather limited audience – composed of no more than one – was seated neatly in a corner of the cabin, still and silent, patiently waiting.

'I know yeh haven't got much time and I understand that there is a lot at stake with the war and all, but…' – Hagrid scratched his wild tangled black beard, a familiar sign betraying anxiety – 'but yeh really should take some time fer… fer yehself and fer other people, I mean… yeh see what I mean.'

An awkward silence filled the room and Hagrid's listener started fidgeting in his place.

'I jus' wanted yeh ter know that I think it's all right ter think abou' other things than You-Know-Who and what's goin' on outside the school. I'm happy fer yeh. I know what it's like ter grow up all alone and make yehself a place in a world yeh know nothing abou'. And Harry, yeh've managed just fine. Yeh've impressed me every single day yeh've bin at Hogwarts. The only thing that troubled me was you always bein' so alone. I mean, sure yeh had Ron and Hermione… and I know what great friends they've been but still, I felt like yeh needed more. And I knew it because I had also been lookin' fer it fer a very long time. I hoped that it wouldn' take yeh as long as it had taken me ter find that special someone'

Hagrid was still clutching the Gryffindor scarf in his huge hands, awkwardly trying not to look at the messed up black head sitting in front of him.

'What I want yeh ter know is that I'm happy fer yeh – said that already, haven't I?- and that I… I wish yeh both all the best and I hope yeh lead a peaceful life together, when the war's over o'course. Hope, Harry, that's the important thing, never lose hope.'

Hagrid sighed heavily with relief and finally faced his public.

'So? How was it? D'yeh think it sounded too… rehearsed? Know I said that happy thing several times but I mean it.'

His hearer felt he was finally allowed to move. He got to his legs and bounced towards Hagrid to give him an affectionate nudge. The half-giant ran his hands through the black hair and gently smiled.

That would do it, he thought. Harry would feel better after that speech. Hagrid was impatient to say it in front of him for real, to see if his reaction would be as good as Fang's. After all, Fang had always been an indulgent audience.

_Tuesday_

_9.30 PM_

_Random Corridor_

Putting their considerable intellects to work (no-one had ever yet underestimated them), Crabbe and Goyle decided to head back to their common room after nearly emptying the kitchen. They hoped that there they would meet with some of their fellow Slytherins.

The tricky part would be for them to resist the temptation of taking too many wrong turns and exploring the maze that was Hogwarts. After all, it was their last year in the castle and one of their last chances to engrave every corner and detail of the school's architecture in their long-term memory, which, for now, only held the legendary lyrics of 'Weasley is our king'.

Anyway, true to the inspired artists that they were, Crabbe and Goyle little cared if their journey back lasted fifteen or forty-five minutes.

'So what do we do now?' Goyle asked.

Yet another philosophical question.

'Maybe we should find the others. They would know.'

'Yeah, they would.'

Silence filled the corridor and for a moment all that could be heard was the heavy, regular noise of their shoes hitting the floor. But not for long…

Soon enough, they heard a voice coming towards them. Peeves was singing, as usual, but the fact that he wasn't yelling aloud but rather mirthfully humming only made the vicious look on his silvery face seem more dangerous.

Not that Crabbe and Goyle took any notice of it; they didn't allow themselves to care for such frivolous details for fear of overloading their already stuffed minds. Still, the song sounded familiar somehow and it reminded them of something.

'Weasley wants Peeves in the bin,

But once Peeves is done with him,

Thick boy won't know what hit him,

Weasley is our king'

Peeves slipped past them and paid less attention to them then if they had been Sir Cadogan challenging him to a duel till death.

'You're right, they would know what to do. But where are they?' Goyle asked once Peeves had disappeared through the ceiling and the last notes of 'Weasley is our king' remastered had died off.

'I dunno,' was Crabbe's unexpected answer.

_Tuesday_

_9.30 PM_

_Entrance Hall_

'You have ten minutes,' Malfoy said in a blank voice.

Hermione knew at once that this was her only chance to get anything out of the Slytherin. The little voice in her head was yelling at her not to let that slimy Malfoy get away with ordering her around like this.

But she was looking at him now, really looking at him.

He was standing near the Entrance Doors, school robes as impeccably pressed as ever, blond hair – not a shade darker than it had been when she had first met him six years before – slicked back, eyes a piercing silver. But there was something wrong about him. His stare wasn't focused, he was blinking too much, he looked almost sick: he looked almost human.

Malfoy was scared.

Hermione realized at once that she had the upper hand for the first time that evening.

'When did it start?' she asked calmly.

'When did what start?'

'You know what I'm talking about.'

'Well, as a matter of fact, I don't. You'll have to be more precise. You know Malfoys: all looks and ignorance,' he answered testily.

'Cut it out, Malfoy, you're not fooling me with your attitude. Now answer.'

_Now, _Hermione thought, _let's pretend he's not getting on my nerves._

'Answer? What do you mean?'

_Now he _is_ getting on my nerves._

'Don't play with me, _Draco_,' she threatened, trying to look as if she was in charge of the situation and wasn't trying to intimidate Draco Malfoy, son of the man who had to be the You-Know-Who's closest ally.

The tension in the air was so thick that Hermione could almost see little lightning bolts above their heads like those in Muggle comics.

Lightning bolts, how ironic… 

She didn't have much time to ponder the irony of it because a cold, drawling voice interrupted her thoughts.

'So now it's Draco. Do you think we're friends?'

_Annoying git._

'No, we're not,' she agreed. 'We can't compare. I'm Head Girl. And I'm more than ready to remind you of that fact in case you suddenly forget it.'

Malfoy made a small, disapproving noise.

'Wouldn't that be abusing power?'

'Oh yes, Dracoit would. But as you can see,' Hermione said, glancing around, 'there's nobody here but us. If something was to happen, who do you think they're going to believe if it all comes down to your word against mine?'

_Well, that was certainly a mouthful._

Malfoy looked astounded, as though he couldn't believe his ears. That was exactly the reaction Hermione had been aiming at.

She knew she could take Malfoy in a wizarding duel… well, no, as a matter of fact, she knew she'd lose in a second. She knew the technique but lacked practice. Then again, Malfoy wasn't supposed to know that, was he?

'Are you threatening me, Granger? Malfoy asked, utterly surprised.

'What do you think?' she countered.

They were very close now: their noses were almost touching. She noticed that his eyes weren't so piercing if you took the time to really look at them; no, they were of a light grey, kind of pure. Malfoy held her eyes for a few seconds but it seemed longer. Then he stepped back.

'Okay, what do you want to know about Potter?'

Hermione let out the breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. Her hands were trembling so she discreetly put them in her pockets where he wouldn't see. She cleared her throat.

'We've…uh…noticed,' she said.

Malfoy was startled.

'Have you?'

Hermione didn't hear him as she was too busy pacing.

'It's been weeks. Months even. At the very beginning, I didn't know what to make of it. I just assumed that Harry needed some time by himself, to sort things out, reconsider his priorities: Quidditch? Classes? I don't know. But then things got…'

'Worse?' Malfoy supplied.

Hermione ignored him.

'The nightmares started. Then, he was disappearing at night. Ron told me he almost never sleeps in the Gryffindor dormitory anymore. I was very worried but it was only yesterday that I got the last piece of the puzzle, when you were late to advanced Charms.'

Malfoy was frozen, his eyes never leaving Hermione who had stopped pacing and was now walking straight at him, pointing an accusatory finger.

'It all…comes down…to you!'

The Slytherin was flabbergasted and also uncharacteristically quiet. And Hermione wasn't finished.

'You've been doing things to Harry. Luring him with a pretence of friendship, drawing him into your world…'

Hermione had him in her power; he had no other choice but to admit that he was a Death Eater! She and Ron would finally have Harry back. He would stop being Malfoy's pawn, thanks to her. It had taken her weeks to find the truth, to link everything to Malfoy, while Ron was certain that Harry was possessed by You-Know-Who – and this was one of his most sensible theories.

She was ready to deliver the _coup de grace_ when they heard a loud bang against the wooden doors, followed by a silly giggle.

One door opened and Malfoy immediately regained his usual attitude, regardless of what Hermione was going to say. The Head Girl turned around and saw two rather dishevelled Slytherins stagger in the hall: that stupid cow Parkinson and her shadow, Zabini. Both were obviously very drunk, and they reeked of alcohol.

What have they been doing? Bathing in it? 

The two friends stopped when they saw Malfoy. Zabini looked at the boy questioningly.

Malfoy frowned. Which meant he was annoyed.

'Do you plan on staring all night?' he asked. 'Because I can feel Granger's getting impatient to jump my bones.'

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

How dare he! 

She got over the initial shock of such an innuendo and saw Pansy waving coyly at a painting on the wall showing two young wizards from a time when wearing robes wasn't exactly compulsory. Meanwhile Zabini and Malfoy were exchanging a long meaningful look which Hermione didn't understand at all. So she looked at Pansy again, and the girl was now sending kisses to the painting.

Hermione remembered seeing her strutting proudly around the school on Malfoy's arm on several occasions. And, according to the gossip that even she couldn't help but hear, Pansy was exactly the sort of girl that Ron would have called a 'scarlet woman'. On the other hand, Hermione knew nothing about Blaise Zabini except that he had been part of Malfoy's entourage for many years. He was quiet, dark, unreadable and unscrupulous: the perfect Slytherin.

Zabini gave a wink and made a crude gesture then grabbed Pansy's arm. The two companions left the room, noisily bothering the suits of armour standing in the corridor.

Hermione followed Malfoy's gaze to the giant hourglasses that showed the House points. Slytherin was leading, closely followed by Gryffindor. Malfoy frowned in a distinguished way and looked at Hermione expectantly.

'Don't worry,' she said. 'I'm not going to take off points because your housemates decided to get drunk.'

'Ooh…,' started Malfoy.

'Shut your mouth. I know that you're using Harry.'

'Who said anything about using?'

'We all know what you are, Malfoy. And you're not getting your dirty hands on Harry. Even after everything he's been through, he's far too pure for that,' Hermione said, far too angry to see Malfoy flinch.

She heard him snort though, and it only infuriated her more.

'You think you're funny, don't you?'

'I just thought you'd be more tolerant,' he said slowly.

If Hermione was angry before, now she was definitely fuming.

'How can you even pretend to give me lessons about tolerance? I know what you and your lot are capable of, I've seen it, I've lost friends because of you.'

'Huh?' was the only expression that crossed Malfoy's mind at that moment.

'Oh, don't you act all innocent now, Hermione continued. 'I've known for years about your _activities_, and I'm sure you're not the only one in this school. You've all been trying to take Harry from us. And you've almost succeeded, but I won't let you. You have no right…'

Hermione stopped, trying to catch her breath. She was flushed and her hair was sticking wildly in all directions. She couldn't believe Malfoy was taking it so calmly: he wasn't even denying it, for God's sake! He was acting as if being a Death Eater was perfectly understandable, as if maiming and killing innocents was normal, as if he was surprised and a bit hurt to see that she resented him for it, as if he could be expected to…

It hit her faster than a mad bludger. Malfoy wasn't trying to lure Harry into working for the Dark Lord. It was very possible that Harry hadn't been lured at all. She had interpreted everything the wrong way. Harry and Malfoy were…

_Oh, no, _Hermione thought. _Don't tell me…It can't be…_

She was far too shocked to look at Malfoy.

She was far too shocked to talk to Malfoy.

Which was actually a good thing because Malfoy was talking to her.

'There are lots of things we hate about each other, and even more things that we'll never agree on, especially if it concerns Harry. But I never thought that my sexual preference would be one of those things.'

Harry? Sexual preference? 

'W…what?' Hermione stuttered lamely.

'Are you really that inarticulate? How did you pretend to be so clever during all those years?' Malfoy asked drily..

Hermione stayed quiet. Quiet was better than stuttering.

'You know, Granger,' continued Draco, 'I always knew that sex would be an issue between us.'

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have blushed. Now she was too busy trying not to pass out. Catatonia was not going to help Harry in any way.

'But don't worry, I'll let the Weasel do the honours. After all, I've already got the best member of the Dream Team in my bed, I don't need anything more!'

Hermione blinked. 'It all makes sense,' was what her inner self was saying. Her inner self wasn't the one who would have to tell Ron.

Good God, Ron! 

Apparently, Malfoy was now bored of her lack of response. The boy needed his audience.

'Get over it Granger! At least he's not a Death Eater. Come on, he's better off being gay than dead!'

Malfoy was right, not that she would ever admit that to anybody. The situation could have been much worse. She had millions of things to say at that moment, but she only uttered one very undignified word.

'What?' she said in an unusually high-pitched voice.

_Tuesday_

_9.30 PM_

_Another random corridor _

Hogwarts was a jungle and no one knew this better than Argus Filch, caretaker of the school. Hogwarts was a place where you constantly faced the most dangerous foe of all.

At Hogwarts, it was either you or THEM, a foe that found its main strength in the considerable number of its army. It was chasing or being chased; it was making their lives a living nightmare because THEY had no second thoughts doing it to you; it was survival of the fittest; it was showing THEM no mercy because THEY would show you none.

THEY were insufferable little brats and HE hated THEM. Them: the students!

THEY were out of bed, he knew it; he could sense it, he could smell it! Well no, actually he couldn't; his old nose wasn't what it used to be, that came along with the arthritis, the lost teeth and the haemorrhoids. Oh, those were the worst.

However, Mrs Norris' senses were as efficient as ever. So it was in company of his vicious cat that Argus Filch was slowly progressing through the castle's empty corridors.

The caretaker was, like a predator after its prey, carefully hunting down every sound – every gasp, every creaking stair, every whisper – that would betray the presence of one of THEM. He loathed THEM even more than he loathed his late mother's – may she rest in peace – cockroach crumpet.

Filch was jolted out of his touching family memories by Mrs Norris scratching his leg: that was the sign! A scratch on the right leg meant 'student out of bed'; a scratch on the left leg, 'Peeves up to no good'; a low maul was for 'move your old arthritic bones, we're losing them!'.

Tonight, it was scratch on the left leg followed by low maul. The old caretaker quickened his pace in order to keep up with Mrs Norris, with a silent scowl painted on his wrinkled face. The cat took a left turn and rushed down a flight of stairs and along yet another empty corridor. Empty except for…

'… thick boy won't know what hit him,

Weasley is our king.'

'Peeves!' Argus Filch roared, completely out of breath and placing his hand on his aching back. 'What are you doing here in…' – he paused to look around him – '…in the corridor leading to the headmaster's office?'

Peeves did not answer him, of course. He just kept on humming and shrugged innocently before awkwardly hiding his empty hands behind his back.

'Get out of here or I'll have you expelled!' Filch threatened at the top of his lungs.

However, by the mischievous look on the poltergeist's face as he passed through the ceiling, some would have said 'Mischief managed'.

_Tuesday_

_9.30 PM_

_Headmaster's Office_

'So you see, at first I didn't understand. I mean, why would he be hiding something from me? We've been best friends since first year. But there were all these absences… One day, he even missed Quidditch! Yeah, that's how far it's gone! After that, he said he had forgotten about practice and when I asked him what in the world could've been more important to him than Quidditch practice, he told me that he didn't really remember and that it wasn't so important anyway! Yeah, right! If you want to know what I think, I…' Ron continued to explain, turning into the buzzing bee again

Professor Dumbledore felt like he already knew too much about what Ron Weasley thought, but the headmaster remained silent all the same. Harry missing Quidditch, Harry missing SPEW meetings without even warning Ron, Harry being late for Charms, Harry falling asleep in Divination… The headmaster had come to know far more than he had ever really intended.

Fifteen minutes earlier, Dumbledore had risen up from his comfortable armchair and walked to the window. This, far from interrupting Ron, had only encouraged him to go on, feeling that Dumbledore was taking him seriously.

With one ear listening to Ron and both eyes following the last couple stumbling towards the Entrance Hall, the headmaster had come to the conclusion that everyone was now back in the castle and that creativity had to be a genetic feature (Ron was showing at least as much capacity in that domain than his twin brothers had).

'… like Ginny and You-Know-Who's diary, back in second year. And then I asked myself who could it be? Who could be helping You-Know-Who's diary get into Harry's mind?'

My-oh-my, this boy is asking himself a lot of questions, Dumbledore thought. But even though the headmaster wasn't really interested in the answer, it came eventually. And the winner is…

'Snape, of course!' Ron said, obviously proud of his finding.

'Professor Snape,' Dumbledore corrected automatically, although Ron didn't really seem to notice.

'It had to be him thanks to his Occlumency lessons! I had also thought about Malfoy because he's been acting weird lately too. But, I'm sure that even You-Know-Who's capable of seeing that he's nothing but a… useless… stupid… git! Oops, sorry Professor… still, it couldn't be him because it would've been too, too,' – no dramatic pause this time, more of a search for words – 'too _obvious_ and because he…'

Too bad, thought Dumbledore as he inwardly shrugged; coming so close to the truth and turning away at the very last minute.

So everybody was back into the castle safe and sound: Hagrid was in his cabin, one couple had got home before Ron's arrival and the last one had returned fifteen minutes ago. The headmaster knew he would still have to check with the castle itself. To know whether or not the students were all in their beds was something Dumbledore wouldn't find out without the help of the portraits.

'… and have I mentioned that he's been having weird dreams again? He says he doesn't remember them but I hear him at night, he moans and it's like somebody's making him do things he doesn't want to and now…'

And now was when the headmaster drew the line between amusement and embarrassment. It was time to intervene; either that, or he was never going to bed.

'… and this one time I woke up and he wasn't even there at all! He didn't come back until dawn and he said he had been to the bathroom! Then why would he have taken his Invisibility Cloak to the bathroom?'

At the mention of Harry's Invisibility Cloak, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles.

'… he's always tired, have I mentioned that already?' Ron asked again, but it was a rhetorical question and he therefore hadn't expected…

'Yes, twice,' Dumbledore said softly. 'If I were to quote you, I would say that "he looked like he had been wrestling with the Whomping Willow".'

Ron looked up, his ears turning slightly red. It was the first time in nearly forty-five minutes that the headmaster had interrupted him. He had got used to hearing nothing but his own voice and the portraits' snoring echoing in the office.

'Mr Weasley, I believe your theory is rather… unusual yet… interesting. Nevertheless, I also think that it is something that you should deal with on your own. If Lord Voldemort,' – a gasp from Ron – 'is, in fact, possessing Harry, there is nothing that I can do tonight. Harry will have to face this on his own and for that, he will need all the help and support he may get from his friends. These are difficult times, Mr Weasley, and I am sure that you will have an important role to play in the solution of this most uncommon case.'

'But Professor Dumbledore, Harry can't -' Ron started, absolutely flabbergasted.

'Will you do everything in your power to help Harry and be a good friend, no matter what?' Dumbledore asked, absolutely impatient to get Ron out of his office.

'Yes, but -'

'Then I have all faith in Harry, and you should be with your friend and not in my office,' the headmaster said firmly, allowing no reply.

He walked to Ron and nearly pushed him towards the exit.

'Good night Mr Weasley,' he simply said before closing the door.

Once Ron had left the office, the portraits started to wake up one by one and talk animatedly to one another. The headmaster remained still for a moment, allowing himself to exhale loudly. He was going to review his judgement: Percy wasn't the only Weasley that could bear the sound of his own voice for a record time.

Then he heard a muffled 'splash' like the sound of a great quantity of water falling outside his office, but Dumbledore didn't give it any more thought than that.

_Tuesday_

_9.45 PM_

_Gryffindor Common Room_

Parvati wrote her name at the top of her Divination essay about Palmistry and laid the parchment on the table for the ink to dry.

She closed her eyes and let the tension slowly ease away from her neck and shoulders. It had been a very long day. After her last class that afternoon, she had met with her twin sister to write their monthly letter to their parents. She had planned to finish her essay with Lavender after dinner but her friend hadn't been there to help. No, Parvati had to finish her work by herself in the Gryffindor common room because her best friend was away on a date with Seamus and probably wouldn't be back until midnight.

As a matter of fact, their so-called date was just another meeting at the top of the Astronomy Tower for a quick snog. Parvati wasn't supposed to know that but she had worked it out.

She opened her eyes and looked at her watch. It was only a few minutes past nine o'clock, so she decided to stay in the common room a bit longer in case Lavender turned up earlier than expected. Plus, the armchairs in front of the fireplace were very comfortable and she was quite glad to actually enjoy them for once as Hermione, Harry and Ron, who usually hogged them, were nowhere in sight.

Her thoughts went back to her meeting with her sister. Padma had spent the whole time babbling about the new project that they were working on at the Charms club. Parvati wasn't that good at Charms so she hadn't understood half of what Padma had been saying but it definitely had something to do with making up your own charms and incantations. Whatever her twin had been on about, it must be very exciting and stimulating because Parvati had seldom seen her in such a state about something that wasn't Transfiguration.

Parvati sighed. Padma was a Transfiguration genius and was paired with Hermione in McGonagall's NEWT class, while she was just average in everything but Divination. She really was the black sheep of the Patil family.

She didn't have more time to dwell on that because Lavender came back from her date just then. She sat on the armchair facing Parvati, clothes askew, blond hair mussed and lips swollen.

'I take it your date was alright then?' Parvati asked.

Lavender just smiled that secret smile that those who have a special someone give to those who don't. Then she noticed Parvati's essay on the table and picked it up.

'It looks good,' she said, scanning its contents.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Lavender read her friend's work.

'Lavender?' Parvati started.

'Hmm?' answered the blond girl, without taking her eyes off the piece of parchment.

'Where's Seamus?'

That made her stop reading.

'He's with Dean and Neville,' she said. 'They're raiding the kitchens for tomorrow's party. They won't be back until later.' She added, 'Your essay's great. Trelawney will love it.'

There was an uneasy silence. Parvati couldn't help noticing that their friendship wasn't as strong as it once was. There had been a time when they'd always had something to tell each other.

'You'll never guess what I've heard,' said Lavender.

Parvati couldn't be more grateful. You could never run out of gossip.

'I'm all ears!'

Lavender leaned towards her and began in a low voice:

'Well, I was fixing my hair in the bathroom before I met with Seamus and two Third Years were saying the weirdest thing about Harry.'

'Yeah? What about him?' Parvati asked.

'You know what they're like, they must have spied on him in the Quidditch locker room, because one of the girls said he had _marks _on his neck and collarbones, ' Lavender whispered.

'_Marks?'_ Parvati repeated blankly.

'You know…love bites.'

'Love bites! Why is everybody getting love bites but me? You, Malfoy, and now Harry…'

Lavender's eyes flashed with interest.

'Malfoy! How do _you _know that?

'Padma told me.'

'How does _she_ know that?' Lavender asked ravenously.

'She saw them during one of their Charms meetings.'

'Oh.'

Lavender seemed to be considering that for a while. Then she asked:

'You mean that they saw Malfoy shirtless? Those meetings definitely sound worthwhile now!'

'Lavender!' Parvati exclaimed, scandalised. 'What about Seamus?'

Lavender only laughed. 'Back off! I'm kidding!'

'You'd better be.'

They shared a smile at this playful banter.

'What do you think?' asked Parvati. 'About Harry, I mean. Because I think we'd have noticed if the Boy Who Lived was seeing someone.'

'Well, it might sound a bit extreme, but I think he is.'

Parvati couldn't believe it. Surely they'd have noticed. Harry was a Gryffindor, and their friend. They would have known if he wasn't single anymore. But now that she was thinking about it, she _had_ noticed some strange things, such as Harry inexplicable tardiness every Tuesday morning in Charms. She told Lavender about it.

'And he fell asleep in Divination last week,' noted Lavender.

Parvati burst out laughing.

'That's not proof of anything – he's been falling asleep in Divination since third year!'

'Yes, but he's never slept so soundly before,' countered Lavender. 'But that's not it. Seamus told me that Harry has missed two Quidditch practices in a row.'

Parvati whistled.

'Now that's serious! He wouldn't pass up an opportunity to play Quidditch – you know how much he loves it. That's a bit unusual now that I'm thinking about it.'

'I know. And everything just clicked together in my mind when I remembered what Dean was saying yesterday at breakfast…'

'Dreams!' they said together.

'He's having a lot of dreams,' Lavender went on, 'and he's being quite vocal. I'd venture they're not about Quidditch, but Dean wouldn't say more.'

'But Neville did,' Parvati replied.

The two girls were now talking very quietly as they didn't want anybody to overhear before they had decided whether to spread the news or not.

'What do you mean, Parvati?'

'Neville muttered something about Harry disappearing from the tower at night and making up lame excuses,' Parvati answered.

Lavender's eyes were sparkling.

'That's it! He's involved with someone, someone he's dreaming about and seeing at night. Someone who's worth missing Quidditch.'

'Lucky girl,' sighed Parvati. 'Harry Potter has fallen head over heels in love.'

_Tuesday_

_9.45 PM_

_Entrance Hall_

'What?' Hermione said in an unusually high-pitched voice.

Malfoy's haughty expression only added to her anger. The young man was about to reply with another cold and hurtful remark when –

He was gone.

Hermione took a moment to figure out why Malfoy had suddenly dived behind the nearby large statue of Garulf the humped-back graphorn. Not that she didn't appreciate the quick, precise and almost catlike jump, but surely Malfoy wasn't attempting to mellow her by a fabulous deployment of physical prowess.

What on earth was he doing? Was it an invitation to join him behind the stone? Or perhaps a Slytherin mating ritual? Yu-uck, Hermione thought as she got a visual image of what Malfoy could be doing to Harry: one extraordinary jump after another and it had nothing to do with playing ballerinas.

The Head Girl raised a questioning eyebrow at where she supposed the slender blond man was hiding behind the statue, but she immediately spun around as she heard two all-too-familiar heavy sets of footsteps that were marching as one: Crabbe and Goyle.

Hermione immediately understood: of course, Malfoy would have had a hard time explaining what he was doing at this time of night with a Gryffindor Prefect – let alone, a Head Girl.

Still, Parkinson and Zabini had already seen them over thirty minutes ago. So, what was the big deal if _these two_ saw Malfoy with her? Hermione was beginning to think that the fantastic legwork she had just witnessed was nothing but an excuse so as not to give her an explanation!

Crabbe and Goyle walked right past her and might not even have noticed her if she hadn't been in such an irritated state.

'What are you doing here? It's 10:00 pm and it's a school night!'

Crabbe and Goyle turned their equally impassive faces to her and surprise seemed to pass over them, quickly followed by anger. Their eyes narrowed, they clenched their fists and Hermione could just picture the thoughts racing through their minds.

"Granger, Gryffindor… Gryffindor, bad," Crabbe must be thinking.

"Granger, Head Girl… Head Girl, bad," Goyle had to be thinking.

Another demonstration that proved Crabbe and Goyle didn't just have one brain between them; however, if that had been the case, Hermione believed that it would've been for the greater good.

However huge and impressive the two of them were, she didn't feel intimidated one bit.

'I've asked you a question. What are you doing here?' she repeated impatiently.

'Looking for Draco,' Crabbe grunted.

Hermione crossed her arms on her chest: obviously, a Gryffindor Head Girl wasn't worth Crabbe going through the exhaustive mental exercise of constructing a full sentence.

The Head Girl in Hermione took over and she started feeling guilty: if she had been doing her duty properly, she would have sent both of them back to their dormitory along with Malfoy and taken points off Slytherin as well. Culpability crept further into her: she knew she was going to get rid of Malfoy's cronies in order to finish her conversation with the blond head peeping from between Garulf's sharp horns!

'Well, he obviously isn't here!' she said impatiently as her arms waved dismissively at a place by her side.

Just then, Hermione felt completely disgusted with herself: she was covering up for Malfoy, for God's sake! Urgh…

The latter, however, seemed to be finding the situation rather funny from his graphorn statue vantage point; he couldn't repress a snort.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but neither Crabbe nor Goyle seemed to notice it as they turned their heads simultaneously, captivated by the snorting statue. Hermione put on her best Head Girl tone; an effect, however impressive, lost on her audience.

'Get back to your dormitory at once! Unless of course, you don't mind me taking off points from your house.'

From the looks of focus on their faces, Hermione could just picture their most perspicacious trains of thought: "Granger, Head Girl… Head Girl, taking points from house… taking points, bad."

She must have been close to the truth for Crabbe and Goyle clumsily backed off and headed back for the dungeons, their interest in Garulf the snorting graphorn statue somehow diminished.

Once Laurel and Hardy****were out of sight, Hermione sighed loudly, turned on her heels in order to face the statue and began:

'All right, Malfoy! Now you're going to tell me exactly what you're up to with Ha – '

She was, once again, interrupted; this time, by muffled sobs and soft running footsteps.

A small, fragile-looking girl appeared from around the corner. Hufflepuff, Hermione's mind immediately reminded her, though she couldn't remember the girl's name… something with an R…

The girl was running, her hands in her face and nearly bumped into Hermione.

'You! No running in the corridors!'

The girl lifted her puffy red eyes towards the Head Girl and Hermione's tone and facial expression unwillingly softened.

'What's wrong – ' she paused searching her memory for the girl's name, 'Ruth?'

'It's Rose,' the girl corrected shyly, her lower lip trembling dangerously.

'Right,' Hermione nodded impatiently.

Rose took quite some time to answer; firstly because she was trying to gulp down her tears and secondly because she was also attempting to blow her nose in the tissue Hermione had given her.

'Snape...' Rose finally whispered.

Hermione frowned: what would Snape have to do with a student at this time of night? She was well aware that the Potions Master did not always strictly adhere to professional relationships with some of his students, but she thought this rule only applied to Slytherins.

'I'm gonna fail,' Rose went on stammering. 'I don't deserve to do magic…'

'Now, now… Rachel.' Hermione spoke in soothing tone while patting the young Hufflepuff on the back. 'Everybody experiences a hard time once in while. It doesn't mean that you don't deserve to be attending Hogwarts.'

'But Snape said I was inept concerning magic,' Rose said as she started weeping again. 'He said that some people shouldn't be mixed and that he knew what was going on between students behind his back and that –'

Rose was interrupted as Malfoy chose this moment to step out of his hiding place.

'Quite frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if you truly _were_ inept,' he said in his most disdainful manner. 'There wouldn't happen to be any _squibs_ in your family now, would there?' he added with a grim smile.

Rose burst into tears all over again, spun around and ran towards the Hufflepuff common room. All Hermione had the time to say was, 'Wait, Robin!'

The Head Girl glared at Malfoy, who looked quite pleased with himself and did nothing but shrug in annoyance.

'What kind of sick game are you playing, Malfoy? Have you no heart at all? That looked quite serious!'

'I felt like leaving before the water works started,' he replied with another shrug.

'Leaving? You're not going anywhere until you've told me what's going on between you and Ha –'

She could hear someone else approaching.

Hermione turned down an imaginary volume control so she could stop listening to the newcomer. This was the _third_ interruption in ten minutes!

She thought she might be going nuts or maybe that somebody wanted her to believe she was going nuts. Okay, stop, now you're getting paranoid and that's no better, she told herself.

She inhaled deeply and spun around in time to realize… alas, the return of the buzzing bee… that is, the return of the _soaked_ buzzing bee. She switched the volume back on and immediately regretted it.

'… I should've _bloody_ known!' Ron said, clearly irritated – and dripping.

'Ron? What happened? I thought you were going to see Dumbledore.'

'I was and I did and I should've known!' he repeated angrily, stamping his foot on the floor.

'What are you talking about?' Hermione asked, confused.

'Peeves!' he burst out in rage, 'Haven't you been listening to a word I've just said! I told you earlier that he was up to no good and look at what he did!' He waved his arms around him and splashed drops of water on Hermione's face.

'Pathetic Weasel, you can't even earn the respect of a poltergeist,' Malfoy scoffed. 'How do you expect to obtain the respect of students?'

Oh, she had forgotten about _him._

If Ron's face had appeared red to Hermione before, it now seemed puce. Or maybe it was just that his freckles that seemed to have jumped out of their original place.

'What. Is. HE. Doing. Here?' Ron asked, stressing every word.

Hermione sighed as, for once, she had no idea how to answer a question somebody asked her. She prayed for yet another interruption…

'What is it, Weasley? Scared I might run off with your girlfriend? She seemed quite willing a few minutes ago. It's a miracle she's managed to cope with you for so long,' Malfoy drawled.

'YOU!' Ron said, pointing a threatening finger at Malfoy. 'I swear you –'

'…won't know what hit him,

Weasley is our king.'

Peeves had just appeared from the ceiling and Hermione was now certain she was mad.

Peeves paused for a few seconds, looking at the scene that lay before him and smirked. This only increased Ron's less-than-positive mood. The redhead turned his anger on Peeves but before he could find the right words, the poltergeist was singing again:

'Malfoy underneath your skin,

With nasty smirk and pointed chin?

What a foul mood Weasley's in!

Weasley is our king!'

Well, purple brown certainly is a nice colour… maybe not with red hair, but still a very nice colour, Hermione tried to convince herself.

Suddenly, she was aware of the rush and commotion taking place around her: Peeves was singing at the top of his high-pitched voice, Malfoy was throwing insults at Ron and Ron… well, Ron, besides being purple-scarlet now, was drawing his wand, trying to take aim at both Peeves and Malfoy.

'CUT IT OUT!' Hermione yelled.

It had the desired effect…

'I can't even hear myself think,' she added more calmly.

… for too short a time.

'And I'm sure that's such a shame, Granger,' Malfoy intervened.

Hermione glared at him and it was just the signal Ron needed to start the fight all over again.

'Don't make me shut you up!' he said threateningly, the tip of his wand right under Malfoy's nose.

'Am I supposed to be frightened?' Malfoy raised his perfectly shaped blond eyebrow. 'Maybe it's the fact that you're soaked to the bones that somehow ruins your attempt at a serious manly threat.'

'I'm warning you, Malfoy!'

'On second thought,' Malfoy went on, ignoring Ron, 'maybe it's just the fact that you're a redhead with second-hand clothes and no particular talent for magic… what's the word for that kind of people?' He feigned having trouble recalling. 'Oh, yes… Weasleys,' he drawled. 'Stop warning me and do something!' he raised his voice impatiently, drawing his wand as well.

'…is our king,' Peeves was still yelling.

'Ron, don't be silly,' Hermione tried to interfere.

'Malfoy underneath your...'

'This is ridiculous, both of you.'

'…nasty smirk and pointed chin…'

She gave Malfoy an insistent look, meaning that she expected better from him, but he plainly ignored her. Hermione sighed again, what had she been expecting? He was, after all, a Malfoy.

'Ready to be humiliated in front of your girlfriend Weasley?'

'…foul mood Weasley's in…'

'I've been wanting to wipe that sneer of your face for seven long years.'

'… Weasley is our king!'

'No, really both of you…'

'… underneath your skin…'

'Ron, you can't!'

'…and pointed chin…'

'Step aside, Hermione!'

'Ron, you're a Prefect!'

'Malfoy underneath…'

'Yeah, and I wonder how _you_ ever became one.'

'Shut up Malfoy! Ron…'

'…our king!'

'What is going ON here?'

The four of them turned around and the poltergeist even stopped singing. He eyed the new comer suspiciously before smirking and saying:

'Well, if it isn't potty Potter!'

Hermione's mouth dropped open, Malfoy crossed his arms on his chest, still holding his wand, and Ron realized that he had in front of him the reason why his evening had been spoilt in the first place, the reason why he hadn't spent this Tuesday night in the Gryffindor common room playing wizard chess.

'Harry? Where the hell have you been?' Ron let out.

'Yes!' Hermione seemed to have recovered the power of speech. 'We've been looking all over for you!'

'Are you all right?'

'Oh, Harry! I've been soo worried!'

Harry glanced at Draco, who had remained silent and simply addressed him with an arched eyebrow, waving all the concerns of his friends away.

'I've been – 'he started.

Interruption being the theme of the evening, there was no possible way for even one of our characters to finish a sentence, not even the Boy Who Lived.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she recognized the stumbling and laughing couple coming towards their group. You would've thought that after over forty-five minutes, the effect of the alcohol would have faded away… at least a bit.

Unless of course, the Slytherins had a secret alcohol storeroom, Hermione wondered. The latter wouldn't have surprised her.

Parkinson and Zabini still managed to make their way towards them demonstrating their prowess at _not_ knocking down suits of armour along the way. They were leaning against one another as neither seemed able to walk alone.

They were apparently singing, though both words and melody were indistinguishable. Suddenly, Parkinson stopped dead in her tracks… and in her singing. Hermione blessed her for that: she'd had enough singing for one night.

This abrupt stop nearly caused Zabini to lose his balance and fall to the floor. He caught her wrist at the very last second and to Hermione's surprise, Parkinson was revealed to be stable enough for Zabini to hold onto her.

The girl was still staring at Malfoy, Ron, Harry and Hermione when she pointed her finger at them and burst into laughter. Zabini followed faithfully, though Hermione doubted that he knew why he was laughing, just as she doubted he even _cared_ about knowing why he was laughing.

Harry and Ron looked at them in disbelief but Hermione chose to ignore them. She had already dealt with enough Slytherins in the last hour to worry about these two!

'So, Harry? Where have you been?' she repeated Ron's previous question.

'Um...' Harry said, turning his green eyes towards her. 'Well, you know me,' he added shrugging. 'After being surprisingly kidnapped by a loyal follower of the darkest wizard of all time for the – is it the third or the fourth time? I keep losing track – anyway, he led me to Lord Voldemort,' he said deadpan. Ron gasped and Hermione rolled her eyes. 'And we fought for an hour before I decided that it was time to put an end to our eternal quarrel, thus postponing the end of the world – plus it was dinner time. So I defeated him and ran off with the girl – '

'The girl? What girl?' Ron asked, confused.

'I dunno.' Harry shrugged. 'Isn't there always a girl? So, we ran away and seeing as how it was dinnertime, I invited her to a restaurant. Then I walked her home and after offering her a chocolate frog, I left and here I am.' He let his arms fall loosely to his side.

Ron was still looking at Harry in disbelief.

'My hero,' Malfoy snorted, switching his body-weigh to his left leg while Parkinson and Zabini once again burst into fists of laughter.

They were both pointing their fingers again but not directly at Harry, Malfoy, Ron and Hermione, they were aiming – as far as they could aim in their current state – at a point behind Harry and a little above his shoulder. Following their fingers, Hermione gasped.

'What? What is it?' Harry asked, now doubting his sense of humour.

'Um-hum,' someone cleared his throat.

_Harry was lost._

_He had been running down Hogwarts' many corridors for what seemed to be hours. The portraits had been giving him directions but he kept taking the wrong turn._

_His last interlocutor had been Sir Cadogan._

'_Higher, you have to go higher,' the bad-tempered mock-knight had said. _

_Harry would be ten in a few weeks._

_But today it was Dudley's birthday, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had taken Dudley and Piers Polkiss to an amusement park._

_Harry hadn't been allowed inside; instead they left him to play alone on the old swings on the other side of the while Dudley and Piers rode the fabulous roller-coasters. _

_Happy to be free of the Dursleys for a few hours, Harry had sat on the wooden seat and started swinging back and forth._

At the time, he secretly thought that swings were the closest thing there was to flying.

'_Higher,' he muttered to himself. 'I've got to go higher.'_

Harry was twelve again, up in the sky on his shiny Nimbus Two Thousand.

_Malfoy was a few feet away, poised gracefully on his own broomstick. The pale boy pointed to the dark sky above them; it sparkled with stars. Should Harry follow him? He knew he couldn't trust Malfoy…_

'_Potter,' challenged Malfoy, 'don't tell me you're afraid of going higher!'_

_Harry was lying on white cotton sheets, his limbs entwined with his lover's. A breathy voice whimpered in his ear._

'_Harry… Harry, please… lower…'_

_It was pitch black. _

_Harry rubbed his eyes and squinted in the dark. He finally made out a feeble light coming from underneath a door at the end of a narrow corridor. Harry's scar gave a painful throb and the he had to bite his hand to stop himself from crying out. He reached in his pocket, desperate for his wand._

_It wasn't there. _

_Neither was the pocket._

_Harry was wearing his pyjamas. _

_As though he was on wheels, Harry glided toward the door and the closer he got, the more his scar hurt._

_He stopped in front of the door, just in time to hear a weak voice whine:_

'_But my Lord, they… it seems that…they are nowhere to be found.'_

_Harry knew this voice: it was Wormtail. Harry was ready to burst into the room and kill him with his bare hands but another voice spoke up, high-pitched, cold and confident._

'What do you mean they are nowhere to be found? You mean that YOU are not capable of finding them! Do not try and make it sound as though it is THEIR fault, Wormtail!'

_Voldemort. He was too close. The pain in Harry's head was too much._

_Harry fell down on his knees, holding his head in this hands, utterly helpless._

_That was it; he was dying._

'_I don't want to die, not now,' he whimpered._

'_Potter,' answered a bored voice, 'you're not going to die.'_

_The voice was right – Harry wasn't dying._

In fact, Harry was waking up.

When the splitting pain in his head had come down to a more bearable ache in his scar, he opened his eyes to find a very naked Draco Malfoy scowling at him.

He was sitting Indian-style on top of the blanket, a huge book with a leather cover on his lap. A smell of dust and old pages hung in the air. His lit wand was poised artfully on his right ear so he could see the pages.

Harry rolled over, holding his palms over his eyes to block the light.

'Turn off your damn wand,' he muttered. 'My head...'

'How am I supposed to read in the dark? You've woken me up with all your thrashing and panting and now what am I to do? Wait for morning while you get your beauty sleep?'

'_Draco..._' Harry started dangerously.

'Okay, princess, don't get your knickers in a knot.'

Draco shut his book a little harder than necessary and took his wand off his ear.

'_Nox_,' he whispered. 'There. Happy?'

'Delighted.'

The blond boy stayed silent for almost a whole minute and slid back under the blanket. He cuddled close to Harry, spooning him, and started stroking his arm lightly.

'Want to tell me about your dream?' he asked softly.

'No thanks. But I'm okay.'

The two boys stayed like that for a little while, but soon enough Draco's restlessness was getting on Harry's nerves.

Harry let out a long sigh.

'Could you stop that?'

'Stop what?'

'Moving. I'm trying to get back to sleep.'

'Fine!'

Ten seconds had passed when Harry sat up suddenly, pain exploding in his scar again, an aftershock of the dream.

Draco was startled.

Harry sighed again and Draco gently put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

'How are you feeling?'

'Take a wild guess,' answered Harry, sarcasm dripping from his words.

'Thought so, ' Draco added airily.

He brushed Harry's sweaty fringe away, laying his fingertips on his lover's warm forehead. Then, he touched Harry's scar, slowly, delicately, tracing the lightning bolt shape. Harry sat there, quiet, unmoving, mesmerized. It was quite unusual for him to feel someone else's fingers on his scar, he was uncomfortable for people to _look_ at it, let alone touch it. But he didn't push Draco away. After every debauched thing he and Draco had done in the past two months, this cool caress on his burning scar felt very intimate and special.

The moment was over when Draco put his other hand back on Harry's shoulder, rubbing the tense muscles expertly.

Taken by surprise, Harry moaned loudly.

Draco gave a short laugh.

'I know exactly what you need...' he whispered saucily in Harry's ear.

He pushed Harry down on the mattress.

'Wha...' Harry began. 'I'm not sure I...'

'Shh... Give me the oil and lay down on your stomach. I'll do all the work.'

Harry goggled in the dark.

_Well, that's a bit direct. What about foreplay?_

Draco was usually more subtle about his intentions but still, Harry didn't object and did as he was told.

He heard the bottle being opened and then nearly jumped out of his skin when Draco straddled his hips, sitting on his buttocks.

Harry's mouth dropped open when slick warm hands started rubbing his shoulders and back in the most enjoyable way.

Draco was giving him a massage.

He snorted in disbelief.

The blond sniggered back.

'Potter, you have a nasty mind.'

'So do you. You're the one who's playing me.'

'_Touché_. I guess that makes us even.'

'Even? I don't think so.'

'Don't worry, I would never accuse you of thinking.'

'Shut up. And rub harder.'

'As you wish, _princess._'

'_Draco..._'

'Shutting up.'

Harry laid his head on the pillow and let Draco's hands work their magic on his tense body. Through half-opened lids, he noticed the first rays of the morning sun poking through the hangings of his four-poster bed. Draco had once confessed that he now hated morning since that meant they had to be away from each other. Harry had called him _Juliet_ and Draco, not catching the Muggle reference, had thought this was about his hair and had almost thrown a tantrum. Harry smiled at the memory and fell asleep, every other thought escaping his mind.

_Tuesday_

_9.02 AM_

_Gryffindor Tower_

When Harry woke up again, Draco was gone and the dormitory was empty. He dressed hurriedly, putting on odd socks without even noticing. A look out the window in the common room told him that he was indeed very late: a group of Third Year Hufflepuffs was entering Greenhouse Number One and Hagrid's Care Of Magical Creatures class had already started. Judging by the sparks and smoke that erupted from behind the Pumpkin Field, Blast-Ended Skrewts were on the menu. He ran through the portrait hole – 'Children!' said the Fat Lady – and five flights of stairs down, a shortcut, three corridors and an encounter with Peeves later, he entered the Charms classroom, out of breath and glasses askew, the door slamming behind him.

Two things ensued.

Professor Flitwick was startled and lost his precarious balance on the books piled up on his chair. He started moving his arms in circles, looking like a short, bearded windmill, squealing to Seamus Finnigan that, no thanks, he didn't want to be levitated to the ground. Dean Thomas was rolling on the floor, tears of mirth leaking from his eyes, as Seamus tried to Summon Professor Flitwick's books one by one, obviously trying to help him but only resulting in making the little wizard even less stable.

Harry stood there, half-laughing, half-cringing.

At the same time, Parvati and Lavender pointed toward Harry's ruffled clothes and burst into loud giggles.

Harry used the general confusion to join Ron and sat at the desk with his best friend. He smoothed his robes, not catching the 'I told you so' look that Ron gave a puzzled Hermione.

They were learning Housekeeping Charms this month and this particular class consisted of emptying the contents of one's school bag on the desk and then piling everything up with magic. Ron had put his quills artfully on the desk and was trying to pile them using the _Cumulus _spell. He only succeeded in disrupting Hermione's perfect pyramid of inkbottles.

Harry tried once or twice to pack his textbooks before giving up and watching Ron's rather interesting attempts. Ron gave a complicated flick of his wrist and purple sparks erupted from his wand before hitting Harry's abandoned textbooks. Two of them immediately sprouted little arms and legs and engaged in a fight, using Ron's quills as swords.

Under Hermione's disapproving gaze, Harry and Ron spent the class egging on the books and cheering each time one of them gave a good blow. In the end, Harry had to beg Hermione to fix his Transfiguration textbook, which was half ripped and had missing pages.

The double History of Magic lesson was unsurprisingly uneventful and it passed as a blur. Harry watched Ron shoot down flies with his wand hidden in his sleeve for a while and then dozed off until lunch.

_Tuesday_

_13.30 PM _

_Great Hall_

His dream was still very fresh in his mind and he kept replaying it over and over again, trying to get it to make sense. But the more he thought about it, the more his head was hurting.

However, he had totally forgotten about it an hour later and was halfway through his shepherd's pie when he sensed Draco was watching him. He couldn't help grinning.

'What's so funny?' asked Ron.

Harry looked down sheepishly and muttered a vague answer, something about seeing the sun through the window and looking forward to the next Quidditch match.

It was an obvious lie but Ron was very gullible about Harry and Quidditch so he just nodded and launched himself in a tirade about the 'inept' Ravenclaw keeper and how they just needed to trick him by hiding the quaffle behind their backs and then throw pumpkins (enchanted to look like quaffles) at him…

As usual when Ron was talking tactics – something he was always over-enthusiastic about – Hermione came to Harry's rescue and engaged Ron in a conversation about the two boys' antics in Charms earlier that day.

It was quite unusual for her to take aim at Ron only and leave Harry out of it, but Harry was too busy staring to be suspicious.

Little did he know that Hermione's lecture was just a pretence so she could observe him without Ron being in the way.

Harry returned to his contemplation of the Slytherin table.

To Harry's surprise when he and Draco had started doing…whatever they were doing, he had discovered that the Slytherin had actual friends and wasn't spending all his free time with Crabbe and Goyle, though Draco had admitted that those two could be great company if you really knew them.

Draco was sitting between his two friends Blaise and Pansy, looking as flawless and pristine as ever.

Even if she rarely said so, Harry knew that Hermione hated Pansy Parkinson.

She was slutty, disrespectful and obnoxious, had a wicked tongue and was mean.

Draco's female twin, but still a pale comparison.

Pansy was tiny, had straight dark hair and an overly sweet smile which made Harry slightly nauseated. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't even pretty. She would have been plain without the dark make-up and short skirts that made her look like a naughty schoolgirl. Some thought that was appealing, others (like Hermione) thought that it gave her the sick look of a little girl dressed up in her mother's clothes and that she was trying to hide her pain under a 'come and get me' look.

Hermione knew that kind of thing.

Then again, Hermione knew too many things Harry didn't want to know about girls.

But Draco had told Harry than even though Pansy had an air of desperation about her, he liked her, so she had to have some hidden depths under that 'Hogwarts' resident bitch' attitude, didn't she?

Harry let his eyes slide over his lover's angular features to look at the person sitting on his right.

Blaise Zabini. Now _he_ was a mystery.

Too quiet and with a boy-next-door look, nobody ever noticed him but Harry was ill at ease around him. Not that Harry was used to being comfortable around Slytherins other than Draco but still, Zabini's presence was unsettling.

He was always there, in the shadows, like an old pain that you just can't get rid off; you forget all about it until it comes back when you're not expecting it, hurting worse than ever.

He was calculating and just _weird_ but he seemed loyal to Draco.

But Harry had learned the hard way that things weren't always what they seemed and he had a feeling that Zabini wasn't quite truthful. He wasn't a body language specialist but he thought that Zabini moved as if he had something to hide.

And even if the boy were nice, he wouldn't be able to get to like him.

Blaise and Draco had _history._

Blaise and Pansy were currently engaged in a heated conversation over Draco's head. All that Harry managed to catch over the rumbling noise of the Great Hall was Pansy saying 'tonight', 'caught' and 'dangerous'. Then, Zabini frowned and said:

'Again! But last week…'

Pansy hushed him and glanced at the Staff table.

How could Harry not be suspicious?

Something was tugging at his sleeve. Or rather _someone_ was. And there was a weird chirping noise in his ears, growing louder and louder. Oh right, Ginny Weasley was talking to him.

'… so I'm asking you before I go to McGonagall. Are you in or out?'

'What ?…McGonagall?'

Ginny looked at him as if he was a fly she was going to squash.

'Don't tell me you haven't been listening.'

She started to go quite red in the face.

Once again, it was Hermione who came to his rescue.

'Of course he's been listening, Ginny. Right Harry?'

Harry gaped. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

'Huh…right.'

'And of course he's in.'

'Am I?'

Ginny looked suspicious and Hermione stepped on Harry's foot under the table. Harry jumped.

'Are you all right, mate?' Ron asked.

Hermione must have stepped on _his_ foot too because he gave a loud yelp.

'You three are weird sometimes, you know?' said Ginny. 'Anyway, I haven't got all day. Can I count you in, Harry?

Clueless, Harry risked a glance toward Hermione who discreetly nodded.

'Of course,' he said, following Hermione's lead.

Apparently satisfied, Ginny added Harry's name to a roll of parchment and left them, shaking her head.

Harry sighed.

'What have I just agreed to do?'

It was Ron who answered his mouth full of food.

'You remember that you're Quidditch captain, right? Well, we're having a day-long practice next Hogsmeade day. Great, isn't it?'

Quidditch, right. Quidditch was easy, Quidditch he could do without thinking. Plus a whole day of practice would be very useful to prepare for the next game against Ravenclaw, as the two new beaters were still nowhere as good as Fred and George Weasley.

Harry was finally relaxing a bit when it struck him.

'Wait a minute,' he said. 'We're not talking about this Saturday, are we?'

Ron's silence was enough.

'Crap.'

'What's the matter?' Hermione asked. 'If you need something from Hogsmeade, I can get it for you.'

'It's not that…It's…Well…I…'

'Come on, you can tell me.'

'I was supposed to meet – '

Harry caught himself at the last second.

'I mean I had other arrangements.'

Hermione seemed disappointed but didn't press him.

'Well, they'll have to be postponed now, Ginny's already gone to Professor McGonagall to book the pitch,' she said slowly.

'I suppose.'

Ron grinned.

'Come on, mate, a full day playing Quidditch! It will be a blast! We could even try that pumpkin trick I've been thinking of! What d'you think?'

'Terrific,' said Harry, deadpan.

_Tuesday_

_4:37 PM _

_Potions Classroom _

Potions.

Harry loathed Potions.

After seven years at Hogwarts, Harry still couldn't decide which he hated most: the Potions Master or the subject itself.

Deep down inside, Harry knew that he could have been decent at potion making if Snape hadn't been determined from the very beginning to make his life a living hell.

Now it was too late: Potions was easily Harry's worst subject. Even when Snape wasn't trying to fail him.

Harry was in the Potions Newt Class and he had no idea how he had passed. He wasn't able to tell mandrake from shrivelled fig and was almost sure to stir counter-clockwise whenever Snape told them to stir clockwise.

Hermione was appalled at Harry's ineptitude and kept telling him that brewing a potion was just like chemistry: he only needed to be precise and methodical and his potions wouldn't turn out as explosives or soups.

Thankfully, Ron – always reliable when it came to these things – was just as bad at Potions and they could take turns in mocking each other about their disastrous concoctions.

Snape wasn't amused though.

In fact, Harry doubted that the man's muscles even remembered how to turn his thin mouth into even a small smile.

At that moment, Snape was enumerating the ingredients needed for a Healing Potion to his Newt class.

' …add two cups of powdered dried beech leaves, four unicorn hairs, sprinkle with rosemary, also called dew of the sea, stir seven and a half times counter-clockwise and then leave it to simmer for 9 minutes…'

The class was taking notes.

Harry was dozing off.

As his lids were closing, he noticed Draco was looking pleased, eyes halfway closed.

Harry was suddenly very much awake.

Hiding a smile, he discreetly tore off a bit of parchment and dipped his quill in the inkbottle carefully. He scribbled a few words and then blew softly on the paper to dry the ink. His eyebrows knitted together in concentration; he folded the piece of paper a few times until it looked like some kind of sick bird. Or maybe a Snitch if you looked at it sideways, decided Harry.

He took his wand out.

'_Windgardium Leviosa._'

The little origami took off and started flapping his wings awkwardly. Harry kept his wand pointed toward it, intending to fly it over the classroom while the other students where busy watching their simmering potions, to its destination: Draco's desk.

It started to rise higher and higher, slowly gaining speed. Surprised at how fun this was, Harry was trying to make it do little Quidditch figures when Ron leaned over.

'D'you have any spare beech leaves? I think Pig tried to make a nest out of what I had left. '

'Sure. Help yourself,' Harry muttered absently.

His origami was now doing enthusiastic loop-de-loops while Ron, trying to reach Harry's beech leaves, slipped and spilled the inkbottle all over the desk and Harry's arm.

Harry cursed under his breath and tried to mop up the ink before it started dribbling on the floor – or worse, into their cauldrons. For a moment, he forgot all about his wand, which was still in his other hand, pointed towards the stone ceiling.

The origami rose magnificently before it sped down in what could have been a perfect Wronski Feint if it hadn't crashed right into Snape's chest.

The Potions Master stopped dead in his tracks and picked up the offending bit of paper, looking straight at Harry.

There was a religious silence in the Dungeon and the whole class was now hanging on Snape's every word.

He slowly unfolded the paper, obviously taking a malicious pleasure in it.

Harry thought something along the lines of 'No, please, no,' but the words didn't reach his lips.

Hermione jumped when Snape cleared his throat.

'And what, Potter, do you have to say that is so important that it can't wait until this class is over, I wonder.'

He squinted at the piece of paper, sneered and took out his wand.

Oh God. No, he can't… he won't… 

But Snape was talking again.

'I think that all your classmates deserve to know what their great hero thinks matters more than producing a Healing Potion that could save lives in an emergency.

This time the words escaped Harry's mouth. Being his usual articulate self, all he said was:

'No, please no.'

'I don't remember allowing you to speak,' snapped Snape.

Harry felt his temper start to rise.

Snape tapped the former origami with his wand and Harry's voice echoed in the chamber, magnified so that everybody could hear.

Snape had turned Harry's note into a Howler.

'JULIET, 

PRETTY SMILE ON YOUR FACE. THINKING ABOUT ME, AREN'T YOU?

MISSED YOU THIS MORNING. _NEED_ TO SEE YOU QUICKLY.

SAME TIME, SAME PLACE.'

There were three very long seconds of silence before a silly giggle came from the first row.

Now this was mortifying. How could a few harmless sentences sound so ridiculous when spoken aloud?

Harry noticed that Draco's neck was faintly pink and that he was looking down, trying to hide his discomfort.

Although Snape was still looking at him straight in the eye, the whole class was now laughing, even the Gryffindors – but the Slytherins were laughing harder.

Maybe Draco should have laughed too.

Because Snape certainly noticed he didn't.

A look of comprehension crossed the Potions Master's face and Harry could almost see the wheels turning in his head as it didn't take him long to put two and two together.

Suddenly, Snape seemed to realize that his class was still rolling on the floor in laughter so, after a last piercing look at Draco, he bellowed, 'SILENCE!'

They returned to their Healing Potions.

'My classroom is no place for such frivolities, Potter. That will be 20 points from Gryffindor. And you might be able to pass your Potions NEWT if you were half as involved in the subject as you are in Quidditch and apparently romance, two disciplines that do not require and kind of talent or subtlety.'

_Basic Humiliation 101. This, he could live through._

But Snape _knew._

At the end of the class, Snape made Harry stay and clean the ink Ron had spilled just before the incident. But he didn't say a word about the note or Draco. He just waited until Harry had finished and then gave him a detention on that same night.

This was a bad day. This was a bad, bad day.

On the other hand, it couldn't get any worse now.

Harry regretted thinking this when Ron and Hermione cornered him in the corridor a second later.

That Snape knew was one thing. Sure, Harry hated his guts but Snape was an adult, and he was supposed to be one of the good guys, even if Harry still didn't quite trust him. Snape's knowing was mortifying but did not put him or Draco into actual danger.

Ron and Hermione? He didn't want to tell them. Not now, not so soon, not because of some stupid paper-plane.

How could he have been such a fool?

Ron was closing on him with a goofy grin on his face.

'Harry, mate! Who's that Juliet? It's an alias right? Because I don't think I know a Juliet. Well, except for that cousin of mine who's way too young for you… and I don't think you'd like her anyway. But I'm your best friend! You could've told me if you were seeing someone! Come on, who's the lucky girl?'

Ron had said all that without breathing. It was very impressive.

Harry gaped.

Work, brain, work! 

'Huh…there is no girl,' he said nonplussed.

'What do you mean there is no girl?'

'Well…'

'Who's Juliet then?'

'Umm…'

'What are you hiding Harry?'

'Ron, calm down and let him speak, ' Hermione said. 'So, Harry?'

She was as quiet and thoughtful as Ron was excited and verbal. But both were looking at him intently.

'It was a practical joke!' Harry blurted out at last.

'What…a prank?'

'More like a dare actually.'

'You were dared to write a love note and fly it into Snape?' said Hermione dubiously.

'More or less.'

'Right.' Hermione said.

'Brilliant!' Ron said at the same time.

Harry sighed out of sheer relief and smiled at Ron, all the while silently imploring Hermione to drop the matter.

She apparently got the message because she didn't ask more. Harry thanked her with a blink and turned to Ron, putting on a fake smile.

'You think?'

'Yes! It was great! Snape turning it into a Howler was a nice touch. I didn't know the sneaky bastard was so imaginative. I'd have written something a bit more colourful though, if you see what I mean!'

He waggled his eyebrows. Harry grinned.

'Well, you know, it had to be realistic and I didn't want to get into too much trouble. Twenty points is enough!'

'Boys,' intervened Hermione, 'unless you're planning to grow roots and stay here forever, we might go to the common room. We've got a lot of homework! And don't forget that our NEWTs are in less than two months!'

Ron shrugged and started to follow her.

'You're not coming Harry?'

'I've got things to do.'

'You're sure you're okay?' Hermione asked.

'Of course I am. I'll see you both later.'

She shook her head slowly but said nothing and left, with Ron at her heels. Harry started to go the opposite way when he heard Ron shout:

'Harry, wait! Where does Juliet come from then?'

'Muggle literature,' Harry answered.

_Tuesday_

_6:55 PM_

_Random Corridor_

Harry was hurrying along Sir Cadogan's corridor.

After escaping Ron and Hermione a few moments ago, he had taken a shortcut to reach Gryffindor Tower before them.

Thanks to the Marauder's Map and to his numerous night-time expeditions in the past seven years, Harry now knew his way around Hogwarts better than anybody, except maybe the Weasley twins before their triumphant exit from school a few years ago.

Usually, Harry shared his discoveries with Ron but he had kept a few shortcuts and secret passages to himself for times like this. Times when he had to meet his Slytherin lover about whom Ron and Hermione knew nothing.

Well, about whom_ Ron_ knew nothing.

Because Harry had seen Hermione growing more and more suspicious every day these past two weeks.

Oh, both his friends knew that he was _occasionally _meeting Draco Malfoy but they thought it was an 'inter-house Defence detention', as Harry had carefully worded it to ease his guilt at lying to them.

The 'detention' idea had worked perfectly until now, but Hermione was not easy to fool. And Harry was a very bad liar.

Once in his dormitory, he retrieved his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map and made his way out of the common room through the portrait hole.

He unfolded the map and squinted at the little moving dots. The nametags told him that Ron, Hermione and a dozen other Gryffindors were heading his way.

Quickly, he threw the cloak over his head and leaned against the nearest wall, trying to force himself to breath evenly as blood was thumping in his ears.

It was like playing hide and seek, he thought.

Actually, Harry had never played hide and seek. That dreadful time in the cemetery with Voldemort didn't count.

However, he was quite skilled at hiding. Being chased by Dudley Dursley around the house repeatedly would do that to anybody.

As his two friends passed by, he couldn't help overhearing them.

'Where do you think he's gone?' Ron was asking.

'I think he said he needed to see Flitwick,' answered Hermione carefully.

Harry couldn't believe his ears: Hermione was covering up for him. He _had_ to tell her.

'I think he's with Malfoy again,' Ron enunciated slowly.

Harry gasped.

His red-haired friend continued:

'Hermione, something isn't right there. I know you've told me over and over that they might have come to some kind of truce but it can't be! Harry hates Malfoy, and Malfoy bloody despises Harry.' He paused. 'I reckon Malfoy's using Harry,' he said at last.

'Do you?' inquired Hermione, her voice quite unsure.

She turned toward the Fat Lady.

'_Animo Veritas._'

They disappeared into the common room and the portrait closed behind them.

This day was a nightmare. Harry knew a lot about those – he was quite the specialist.

He took off his cloak and made his way out of the castle.

He was walking behind the greenhouses, hoping not to be noticed by some late students when he saw Neville exiting Professor Sprout's private greenhouse. Neville had a real passion for Herbology, the only subject he was really good at. Since he had joined the Advanced NEWT class, he had taken to staying for a while after class to help Professor Sprout with the cleaning.

He often told his roommates afterwards how she had showed him some 'very rare specimens from her private collection'.

It must be one of those days, Harry thought, as Neville spotted him and strode toward him with a huge smile plastered on his face.

Harry liked Neville. But now was just not the time.

He tried to look pleased to see him nonetheless.

As he got closer, Harry noticed that his friend seemed to be bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

'You all right, Neville?'

The other boy was almost trembling with contained glee. Harry waited for the explosion.

'I just saw something wonderful!' Neville blurted out.

'Did you? I couldn't tell,' muttered Harry under his breath.

Neville was looking at Harry, eyes like saucers, silently begging him to ask more.

Harry relented.

'So what did you see?' he asked a bit too brightly.

He braced himself for the long explanation that would surely come.

He was surprised to see Neville leaning towards him.

'Baby mandrakes! I saw them being born!' Neville whispered excitedly.

Neville looked as if he had just shared a very valuable secret. He frowned when Harry couldn't help choking.

'Born! Don't they just grow?' he asked bewildered.

'Well, yes. But it's still called a birth. You see, mandrakes, as newborns, let out their first cry at birth. And it's a cry that is so pure that you can ear it without earmuffs!'

Where had Neville learned to speak like that, Harry wondered. Long gone was the small, stuttering boy Harry had known.

As interesting as this conversation was, Harry was already late. But Neville was still talking, and trying to look as fascinated by plants as him was getting harder.

'You know, I'm very glad Professor Sprout let me assist her for the birth. You should have seen the babies pop their little roots through the earth and dragon dung for the first time. They're quite pretty, you know.'

_Pretty?_

That was too much. Draco was waiting for him, surely boiling with rage and about to throw one of his infamous tantrums because of the origami disaster that morning. Harry didn't want to hear about pretty little things anymore.

Now, snapping at a friend who had always supported you no matter what wasn't necessarily a good idea. And Harry, unlike Draco, didn't find pleasure in being rude to people just for the fun of it.

Plus, everybody knew that Harry Potter was oh-so-_polite. _

He cleared his throat, hoping to get some inspiration.

'Listen, Neville, I really have to go.'

Neville looked crestfallen.

'But I'd love to hear more about the baby mandrakes,' Harry added quickly. 'Maybe later tonight?'

Neville's shoulders slumped a bit more.

'I won't…uh…I won't be here tonight.'

'How come?' Harry asked, genuinely intrigued this time.

Maybe Neville was going to St Mungo's to visit his parents.

'You must promise not to tell anybody, or laugh,' Neville said.

He looked so serious that Harry crossed his heart.

'I promise.'

His friend mumbled something between his teeth that Harry couldn't quite catch.

'What was that?'

'I'm meeting a girl tonight. You know, the one I've been helping with Herbology.'

'The Hufflepuff?' Harry exclaimed in a loud voice.

'Shhh!' Neville said, looking around warily.

Harry took a deep breath and smiled sincerely. Then he patted Neville on the shoulder, said 'Good one, mate' as brightly as possible and, before Neville started babbling about the poor girl, he did the most sensible thing to do.

He took off running.

'Wait,' shouted Neville. 'I could use some advice about girls!'

Harry smirked to himself and waved vaguely, not looking back.

_Tuesday_

_7:50 PM_

_Hagrid's cabin_

He barged into Hagrid's Cabin five minutes later, out of breath, and slammed the door behind him. Draco was of course already there. Being fashionably late wasn't so trendy in times of crisis.

The well-lit cabin was hard on his eyes after the dimming winter light and it took him a while to get used to it. He had been there often and liked Hagrid's oversized furniture but, as he took off his scarf to put it on a chair, a wave of guilt hit him. Hagrid thought Harry was using his house to do his homework or to have a bit of time by himself, much needed after Sirius' death.

Therefore, the gamekeeper had gladly given a spare key to Harry at the beginning of his sixth year, saying that he was never there between the end of classes and dinner and that Harry could come as often as he liked. Little did the half-giant know that his hand-built home had now become Harry and Draco's secret hideout.

Indeed, after Draco's initial reluctance to enter such a 'plebeian excuse for a house', the two young men had taken to meeting each other before dinner, while Hagrid was doing his daily round in the Forbidden Forest, Harry couldn't really see how the merpeople or thestrals could be of any help but he left it to Hagrid to find a way to communicate even with the most evasive creatures.

After a while, during which Harry took in his surroundings, Draco's voice rose from the darkest corner of the room. He was sitting in Hagrid's biggest armchair, thus looking strangely small and young, still in his school uniform, tie and cloak included. On the other hand, his body language showed nothing childlike. Legs crossed, eyes of steel, he oozed self-confidence and anger.

'What took you so long?' he asked.

'Neville.'

Draco arched an eyebrow.

'Ron and Hermione. I had to find something to say about the note,' Harry said.

'Obviously.'

He un-crossed his legs and put his hands flat on his knees, never taking his eyes off Harry. His playful mood of the night before was gone and this cold attitude reminded him of the Draco he had first met.

Not really intimidated, Harry reluctantly opened his mouth to give a semblance of an explanation. But Draco stood up and silenced him with a raised hand.

'I can't believe you were so stupid,' the blond said. 'Wait a minute, I knew that already, but you usually restrain yourself and only display your impressive skills among your close friends. What I meant was, I can't believe you were so stupid in public.'

Harry sighed.

'You're just afraid that Snape's going to tell your father.'

'I don't give a fuck about my father, Potter,' he shouted.

Okay, this was worse than he had thought. Draco wasn't angry; he was scared. His cheeks were faintly tinged with pink and he was jittery. He really was worried and was trying to hide it behind easier anger. Oldest trick in the book.

'Then why?' Harry asked carefully.

'Do you realize that this could have been the end of…of whatever we're doing together?'

Harry was surprised. This was the first time that Draco had acknowledged, in his own twisted way, that they had a _relationship. _

'Now that Snape knows, he could tell anybody. He could tell Dumbledore.'

'He already knows,' Harry whispered, still taken aback.

'What do you mean he already knows? You've TOLD him?'

'Of course I didn't. As you said yourself, I only display my skills at being stupid to people who are close to me.'

Draco made an irritating noise with his tongue.

'I fail to see your point,' he said. 'Do explain.'

'Dumbledore knows everything that goes on here. You can't hide from him.'

There was a heavy silence that was suddenly broken by the sound of Draco's footsteps pacing.

'Even if Snape has a faint trace of indulgence deep down inside him, which I highly doubt, and keeps his mouth shut, I still can't believe it! You were the one who was afraid of this whole thing and now, you're sending me bloody _flying_ notes in the middle of Potions! Have you lost your mind?'

He paused to catch his breath and before Harry could say a word, he was talking again.

'What's next? Holding hands in the corridor? A date at the Three Broomsticks on Hogsmeade weekend? _Singing Valentines?_ We were clear that nobody was to know, that we had to keep it secret! This is all wrong!'

Ignoring the outburst and the low blow, Harry looked at him straight in the eye and spoke in a calm voice.

'I couldn't care less about what's wrong and what's not,' he said slowly. 'And I'm tired of hiding.'

Draco looked awed for a second and then, before Harry could blink, he was frowning again. He seemed slightly calmer though.

'You very well know that we don't have a choice,' he snapped. 'We're meant to be enemies.'

Harry snorted loudly.

'You know, I'm trying very hard to ignore that fact, but it keeps coming back to haunt me.'

'I don't see what's so funny. Your humour seems to be as reduced as your astuteness.'

Draco sat back in the armchair, crossed his arms and waited.

Harry was leaning against the edge of the table, which came up almost to his shoulders. He took a deep breath.

'I told you about the prophecy. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to fight him. And I might not be as lucky as I have been up to now.'

Obviously seeing where Harry was going, Draco put on a bored expression and focused on his fingernails.

'If I die,' Harry continued, 'then it won't matter anymore if Snape knows, if Dumbledore knows or even if Voldemort knows.'

Draco flinched at the name.

'You're not going to die, Potter,' he drawled.

Everything clicked in Harry's head. How could he have not seen it before?

'It would be so much easier for you if you didn't have to confront your father about joining the Death Eaters. That's why you're so worried about that little note! Because you're afraid that once the cat's out of the bag, you won't have a choice,' Harry finished with a glint of triumph in his eyes.

Draco stood up at once, tense.

'What are you insinuating? That I can't make my own decisions?'

Harry shook his head.

'I never said that. But what if that was to happen? Would you make the good one?'

'You know as well as I do that it would be safer for me to join Him. And He can also force me if I decide not to,' Draco explained. 'I can stand up to my father but there is nothing I can do against the Dark Lord if he wants me to join his ranks. And if he knows about us, I'll be all the more valuable to him. He'd do anything for those pieces of information I have about you.'

Draco was now towering over Harry, who was cornered against the hard wood of the table. They were standing very close; so close that Harry could almost count the freckles on Draco's nose.

'You might as well join him before all hell breaks loose then, if you're so afraid for your own skin,' Harry said, distressed.

Draco frowned and stepped back.

'Have you been listening?'

'Huh?'

'Damn. I know I said it before but you can be really dense sometimes.'

He took on the calm voice of a parent explaining things to a child.

'If students at Hogwarts know about us, then certain students, who we won't name, will tell their parents, who we'd better not name. Then the nameless parents will undoubtedly tell a certain dark and very powerful villain, who people prefer not to name. Said villain wants you dead and we, good guys, would like him to remain as clueless as possible about your impossible self.'

The corners of Draco's mouth turned up as his own antics. Unable to resist, Harry smiled too.

'I get your point,' he said.

'Good boy. No more notes, then. Though I must admit the origami was a nice touch.'

Harry's smile spread and he nodded sheepishly.

They stood face to face for a moment, just looking at each other. Harry finally gave in and gently put his head on Draco's shoulder.

'Draco, what if you were really forced to join him?' he asked quietly.

Draco took his time in answering.

'I guess I'd have no choice,' he said slowly.

'We always have choices,' Harry countered. 'I've learned that.'

Once again, Draco carefully chose his words.

'Well, would you choose to be with me if I was a Death Eater?'

'You'd still be you,' Harry blurted out before he could think.

Draco pulled him into a hug and Harry held on tight. There were so many things that he was unsure of, but _that_ was right. Dangerous and against all odds, but right. Ever since they'd got together, Harry kept marvelling at the rightness of it.

He slowly started to stroke the soft hair on Draco's neck, basking in his lover's presence and letting the tension of the day ease away from his body, all the while knowing that this was another moment stolen from the dark future that lay ahead of them. Harder times were coming and he knew it. Draco knew it. What they had would come to an end, and pain and loss would be unavoidable. But he had made a choice.

'We'd better get back to the castle, it's almost dark outside,' Draco said in a rough voice.

But he held Harry tighter.

Harry took a deep breath, chastely kissed Draco's collarbone and reluctantly let go.

He was about to step back when, changing his mind, he took Draco's face between his hands and was about to kiss him when it struck him.

'Merlin!'

Draco jumped and his eyes opened.

'I'm going to be late,' Harry said.

Recovering rapidly, Draco smirked.

'Late? What, you're meeting your other boyfriend at nine? Or maybe the Weasel is awaiting you for a transcendent game of Wizard Chess where he'll kick your arse?'

'No.'

Draco had said _boyfriend._

'And don't call him that.'

Draco had implicitly implied that he was his _boyfriend._

'I'm meeting Snape,' Harry said very seriously.

Draco's eyebrows reached his hairline. Harry took pity on him.

'I've got detention,' he admitted.

The blond let out an audible sigh and then smiled devilishly.

'You know, the man's not that bad when you get to know him in private. The more you see him, the more he warms up to you. And given the number of detentions you've had in seven years, he must be positively hot for you,' said Draco grinning.

'That's gross. And you seem to have given that a lot of thought. Snape is a teacher. Snape is ugly. And Snape is going to kill me if I'm not in the Dungeons in about…well, in fact I should already be there.'

Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, pecked Draco on the lips and left, closing the heavy door behind him.

'Potter!' Draco yelled at the door. 'I'm not letting you go without a snog!'

Harry wasn't running very fast.

Draco caught up with him quite easily and poked him in the ribs, stopping him. They walked back towards the castle in silence, not wanting anybody to see Draco talking by himself while Harry was hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak.

Harry hated that one of them had to hide one way or another so they could walk side by side out in the open.

On the other hand, being invisible to everybody including Draco allowed him to do things he wouldn't dare when Draco could see him, such as…well, staring, mostly.

Staring was rude and unnatural and Harry had learned that the hard way. When he was a child, Aunt Petunia would throw a fit every time his eyes lingered for too long on something or someone, saying that he was up to something, that good children didn't stare.

Therefore, while he had come to hate his magical cape because it embodied the fact that nobody could know about them, Harry had also always enjoyed the sort of intimacy it gave him even when he was surrounded by people.

For instance, as they got closer to the stone stairs leading to the entrance hall, with Harry a few steps behind Draco, Harry's attention was entirely focused on Draco's legs. That's why he didn't see it coming when the Slytherin whirled around and sized him by the arm.

He frog-marched him to a small alcove carved in the stone wall of the castle, just on the left of the wooden doors.

There wasn't much space but two adults could stand there, perfectly hidden to any passer-by. There were hundreds of hiding places like this one all around Hogwarts and Harry trusted Draco to know every single one of them.

Had Harry not been looking at Draco's thighs, clad in tight pants, appearing now and then between the soft folds of his school robes, he might have guessed what Draco had in mind. The blond had been planning it ever since they left Hagrid's cabin and had been grinning from ear to ear all the way.

But, and as delicious as molesting Draco in the alcove might be, Snape would rip him apart if he was late.

However, Harry didn't have time to think about that as he was slammed against the cold stone wall, and was brutally kissed.

Lips, tongues and teeth. It was not tender, but demanding, hot and violent.

Draco gripped a fistful of Harry's hair and he gave a sharp tug, almost ripping Harry's precious Invisibility Cloak off his head. Breaking the kiss, Harry threw his head back and yelped but it turned into a moan as Draco attacked his neck with his mouth.

Kissing, nipping and softly biting, Draco made his way from his lover's chin to his collarbone, rubbing Harry's thigh and buttock with one hand while the other was also busy loosening the red and yellow tie and unbuttoning the Gryffindor's shirt.

Then Draco's mouth was on Harry's nipple and every thought of Snape being angry escaped his mind. He only wanted to get rid of all those offending clothes and feel Draco's skin against his own: hot, smooth and _his_.

He tried to get Draco to stand up but to no avail. Harry sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth when Draco licked his belly-button and then blew softly on the wet path, making him shiver, watching goose bumps rise all over Harry's stomach and chest.

Draco was getting on his knees and was about to unbuckle Harry's belt when Harry finally came to his senses and put both hands on Draco's shoulder, stopping him effectively this time.

The blond looked up to Harry's face, his eyes darker than usual, his cheeks flushed, his lips red and slightly swollen, and his hair astray.

Harry's eyelids fluttered. He was amazed that he could do that to Draco. Desire was such a simple thing now.

'Something wrong?' Draco asked, his fingers brushing Harry's crotch.

'No,' Harry sighed, pushing against him. 'This is perfect. You are perfect.'

He pulled Draco up and cupped his cheek, rubbing the ball of his thumb against soft skin.

'But I'm going to be late.'

Draco leaned heavily against him, their bodies touching from head to toe, Harry's erratic breathing heaving both of their chests.

'But you're hard...' tried Draco, thrusting his hips into Harry's to prove his point.

Harry hissed loudly and squeezed his fingers on Draco's shoulder hard enough to leave marks. Harry loved marking Draco's pale skin.

'So are you,' he whispered back.

Draco smirked, apparently unable to refrain himself. He looked so debauched Harry wanted to push him face first against the wall and ravish him no end, wiping that smirk off of his face.

But now was not the time.

'That's very observant of you,' countered Draco falling into easy banter. 'Except I'm not the one who'll have to serve a detention with a hard-on in a minute. Unless, of course, that's one of your secret kinks you've not had the guts to tell me yet…'

Draco frowned.

'Is talking about Snape making you harder?' he asked, looking honestly thrilled.

Harry rolled his eyes, still trying to slow his breathing down.

'No, you git. You rubbing yourself against me does that…'

He pushed his hips very explicitly, earning a soft moan from Draco.

'I swear, if you don't stop talking about Snape, I'll start thinking you're the one who's desperate to see more of the evil Potions Master's dark side…'

Draco shook his head, clearly amused.

'You know, if we hadn't spent the last three minutes talking, I might have got you off.'

'Don't fool yourself,' Harry snorted. 'You're good. But you're not _that_ good.'

'You want to bet on that?

The glint in his eyes was so promising that Harry's self control, already hanging by a thin thread, almost snapped.

He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself.

'I really have to go now.'

Draco stepped back and helped Harry to button his shirt. He was about to throw the Invisibility Cloak over the Gryffindor's head when Harry took his face in his hands and softly kissed him.

Draco let him.

This tender aspect had only appeared very recently in their relationship. At the beginning, Draco had been very keen on having every kind of sex anywhere in the castle or out, but he had been immune to tenderness.

Harry wasn't dense enough not to have noticed that Draco was afraid of being close to people, of opening up to them, of trusting anybody other than himself. He had never dared to broach the subject with him though.

Draco was the sort of person who gave his body before he gave his name, as emotional connection was far more intimidating than sex to him. Sex was about release only but emotions could hurt. He had been taught not to give in into his emotions, that feelings made people weak.

Draco was very fierce and passionate. No wonder he was so erratic if he had grown up fighting against his own nature.

Harry had always thought his feelings were his only strength.

_Tuesday_

_9:00 PM_

_Hogwarts Entrance_

Draco got out of the alcove first to check that the path was clear before Harry followed him.

'I'm sorry to leave you like this,' Harry said just before they entered the castle. 'I'll make up for it later.'

Draco just smiled and mimed a curtsy while he opened the door for Harry, whose own smile died on his lips when he saw Hermione standing in the Entrance Hall.

She was looking right through him at Draco as if the Slytherin was a fly she was dying to squash.

'You go. I'll deal with Granger,' Draco muttered, brushing right past him.

Harry couldn't help lingering in the hall for a few minutes, only to make sure that Draco and Hermione wouldn't start cursing each other. If those two started to duel, things could get very ugly.

He was already late anyway and wouldn't avoid Snape's wrath no matter what he did. Even if he had arrived on time, Snape would have been angry and unfair to him because that was just the way he was with Harry. That, and the fact that he had discovered whom Harry was seeing a few hours before.

Things _were_ going to get rough.

The Potions Master would get over it as long as Harry did show up, which he wouldn't have done if he had let Draco give him what was sure to be a fabulous blowjob.

_Don't think about that, _Harry chastised himself. _Your trousers feel too tight already. It will be the end of you if Snape notices you've got a hard-on._

Draco and Hermione were already arguing and it didn't look good.

Harry winced at Hermione's colourful language. She had certainly never talked to him this way.

The Head Girl was fuming and Harry could see her hand, threatening to brandish her wand and transfigure Draco into a skrewt or some other nasty creature, which obviously wasn't in Harry's best interests

But it was five minutes past nine already and it was getting dangerous to make Snape wait any longer. Harry tried to tighten his scarf around his neck to cover any marks but he realized he hadn't been wearing it since they had left Hagrid's cabin. He shrugged, hoping that Draco hadn't been too voracious and that he wasn't covered in love bites.

Harry cursed his incredibly bad luck when he realized a second too late that he and Hermione had chosen to leave the room at the exact same moment and were going to run into each other.

As if everything was happening in slow motion, he saw Hermione getting closer and closer, her face red with anger and her hair flying behind her, bushier than ever.

At the last second, he made a precarious pirouette on one foot, avoiding a collision but still not enough. His Invisibility Cloak grazed her arm and she didn't miss it.

She immediately stated to punch and poke at the air in front of her, her closed fist passing only inches from Harry's nose.

Fortunately, Draco seemed to have noticed what was happening and came to his rescue.

'Nobody turns away from a Malfoy,' he said with a tone that used to make Harry want to punch him in the face.

Wait a minute, that tone still made Harry want to punch him in the face.

Which he still did, occasionally.

He shook his head and left the room.

_Tuesday_

_9:10 PM_

_Potions Storeroom_

Harry was on his knees in the Potions dungeon. Too many words!

He wished he had his wand with him but Snape had taken it away from him as soon as he had crossed the door of the classroom.

The Potions Master had held the wand between his index finger and thumb, clearly disgusted and looking afraid he might be infected with something if it came in contact with too much of his bare skin.

Harry had felt like a disease.

Without a look toward him, Snape had given him a wooden brush and a bucket of soapy water. Leading Harry to the storeroom, he had pointed to the floor.

'Scrub. And make it shine.'

In a whirl of black robes, Snape had turned on his heels and gone back into his classroom, leaving Harry facing the dirty stone floor with a resigned look on his face..

At least Snape hadn't commented on his being late or on Draco.

The floor looked like nobody had ever tried getting rid of the stains and burns it sported, probably made by dozens of potions dropped by clumsy students over the years.

Purples, blues, greens, blacks: the floor was a myriad of oily colours that reflected the flames of the handful of candles used to light the room, casting a gloomy halo on the hundreds of dusty shelves full of carefully labelled glass flasks.

Shaking his head, Harry rolled up his sleeves, dived the brush in the lukewarm water and got to work.

Up. Down. Left. Right. Harder.

The repetitive movements and the gritty noise of bristle on stone were strangely soothing.

The only other sound Harry could hear was the soft bubbling of a cauldron simmering on a magical fire in the classroom.

It reminded him of that time in Second year when he, Hermione and Ron had brewed Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's toilet to trick Draco into telling them who was the heir of Slytherin.

Harry and Ron had sat for hours on the still wet floor, watching Hermione methodically measuring and adding ingredients to the Potion, a slight frown on her face – the one she always got when she was concentrating deeply – and her tongue sticking out between her teeth.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Harry crawled to a large bumpy tile in a corner, covered with a nasty greenish brown stain that looked quite recent.

Suddenly, there were voices talking in the classroom. Harry turned his head sharply towards the door. He recognized Snape's unmistakable drawl at once, snapping at a young girl.

This probably meant she was in trouble.

Shrugging, Harry plunged into the now cool smelly water and started to scrub forcefully.

The spilt Potion must not have been totally absorbed by the stone because as soon as it came in contact with water, a thick silver smoke rose from the floor and enveloped Harry.

He began coughing and his eyes stung badly.

He stumbled to his feet, trying to get away from the corrosive mist.

Hot tears running down on his cheeks, he blindly reached for the door and walked head first into a high shelf.

'Crap. This is a bad, bad day.'

As he had one hand over his eyes and the other rubbing the already swelling bump on his forehand, there was nothing he could do to prevent the flasks on the shelf from losing their balance.

He could only listen as they crashed to the floor he had just spent forty minutes cleaning.

That was when all hell broke loose. Through half-opened eyes and fogged glasses, Harry saw that a dozen flasks had shattered open on the floor, the potions mixing together and already melting the shards of glass and the sole of his shoes.

An awful smell of rotten eggs came to his nostrils and he started to itch all over.

The mist coming from the stone in the corner had risen up to the ceiling, forming a thick layer of dark clouds.

The room darkened and a strange wind came from nowhere and blew through Harry's hair. A storm was coming. And the smell was getting worse.

Useless without his wand and not fancying some kind of acid rain falling on him, Harry almost called for Snape but there was no need.

The Potions Master must have heard the crashing because he barged into the storeroom, looking furious.

With a swift wave of his wand and a muttered incantation, Snape soothed the storm and dispelled the colourful mess Harry had made.

Harry saw the liquids separate and go back to their re-formed bottles that stacked themselves neatly back on the shelf.

It was as if somebody had pressed the rewind key on a VCR.

Harry would never admit it to Snape, but this was a nifty spell he wouldn't mind knowing. However he wasn't sure Snape would be impressed by any kind of admiration coming from Harry Potter.

That's when Snape pointed his wand at Harry, who cringed when he felt a shiver start at the base of his spine and run up his back.

The itching mercifully stopped.

'I'm sorry, sir,' Harry muttered.

'Don't waste your breath, Potter. And get your sorry useless self out of my classroom,' Snape answered, mastering his cold anger.

He brushed past Harry and, sitting stiffly back at his deck, picked up his quill.

Shoulders slumped down and eyes fixed on the floor, Harry dragged his feet towards the door, noticing the poor state of his sneakers, now covered in acid burns.

His hand on the door handle, Harry spun back, foolishly thinking he owed Snape an explanation for what had happened during the class that morning.

'Professor?' he asked.

Snape's glare when he looked up froze Harry on the spot.

'About earlier…' he bravely continued.

'I already know far too much. Get out.'

Snape dipped his quill in his red inkbottle and moodily added something to the parchment he was correcting. Harry was sure it was a nasty depreciative comment.

Harry still had one small ounce of courage in him and gave it a last shot.

'But you've…' he started.

Snape abruptly stood up, his chair scraping the floor in a horrible gritting noise.

'What you've got yourself into goes far beyond your abilities of comprehension and I wouldn't expect you to see how dangerous this is. You have no idea what you are dealing with, you foolish boy.'

Snape paused, something not resembling anger etched on his features. For a second, Harry thought his teacher might be slightly worried.

'Now if you're not out of this room in three seconds,' Snape went on, 'I'm taking fifty points from Gryffindor for refusing a direct order by a member of staff. Oh, and you've already lost fifteen for the mess you made in my storeroom.'

Harry walked resignedly into the corridor, resisting the urge to slam the door being him.

'I guess this could have been worse,' he said to himself as he walked toward the Entrance Hall, his ruined shoes softly creaking on the polished floor.

_Seems like Filch is doing his job after all, _Harry thought absentmindedly.

_Tuesday_

_10.05 PM_

_Entrance Hall_

'What? What is it?'

'Um-hum.' Professor Snape cleared his throat.

Had she been an indifferent spectator, Hermione could have found it all rather funny: two drunk-to-neverending-giggles students, a humming poltergeist, the Boy Who Lived and his son of a Death-Eater lover – urgh, she still needed to get used to _that_ – a clueless red head and an obviously seething Potions Master… well, at least _now_ she knew where Harry was.

When had they ever been reduced to being caught by Snape in the Entrance Hall with three Slytherins and a ghost? After all, they were the dream team who had been wandering unpunished in the corridors of Hogwarts for the last seven years!

All colour drained from Harry's face as he slowly turned his head around, desperately hoping that somebody was playing a joke on him by perfectly impersonating Snape.

Hermione thought she read something that looked like 'oh, crap' on Harry's lips but Snape took no notice of it and went on:

'I don't recall you such heroic prowess while you were scrubbing my storeroom's floor in detention!' he said, his tone rising.

Hermione glanced around her. Peeves was discreetly passing through the wall – how she wished she could do the same – while Parkinson and Zabini had burst into new fits of laughter. Malfoy's expression was as impassive and closed as ever, and Ron would be drooling any minute now if he kept his mouth open that way.

Things couldn't possibly get worse. They were caught after hours outside their respective common rooms on a school night!

Hermione turned her brown eyes back to Malfoy, glaring at him: this was, after all, his entire fault!

The blond young man caught her furious expression. He opened his thin mouth and said, 'Don't look at me like that, Granger! _I_ am not the one responsible for this mess.'

His voice, a soft whisper in the commotion that Hermione couldn't have caught without lip reading, still carried his usual tones of disdain, superiority and annoyance.

'Oh, please. You're the reason I've been looking for Harry all evening! And _you_ knew all along that he was in detention with Snape, didn't you?' she snapped using a skill she had mastered after seven years of Potions with Neville: talking without moving her lips.

'… comes as no surprise. The great Harry Potter never felt he was to obey any…' Snape was still reprimanding Harry.

Malfoy arched an eyebrow in response to Hermione.

'I fail to see your point. And after all, if Harry is your friend, one would assume that you'd know his timetable.'

_What an annoying git!_

'My point is that you're the one taking Harry away from us. You're the one who's – '

'Obviously Miss Granger has something very important to share with us,' Snape said, shifting his attention from Harry to her.

This was great; just perfect! Snape wasn't much more fond of her than he was of Harry.

Oh dear, what if Snape talked to McGonagall? Would she be terribly disappointed? What if she sacked Hermione as Head Girl?

Hermione didn't think she could bear the humiliation. As a matter of fact, she didn't think she could bear this situation any longer: were Parkinson and Zabini ever going to shut up?

Obviously, the Potions Master was thinking along the same lines as, before Hermione could come up with a suitable answer, he turned to the pissed couple.

This abrupt spinning around seemed to take the drunken girl by surprise. She gasped and her laughter stopped dead; her eyes flew wide open and her lower lip dropped. She stared in silence at her Head of House for a few seconds, looking petrified in every sense of the word. Snape's facial expression tended to do that to a lot of students.

Zabini seemed to have sobered up in a matter of seconds as well… that is, if you didn't pay attention to the unfocused eyes, the untidy black hair and the silly smirk still curling his lips.

Against all odds and plain common sense, Parkinson suddenly started laughing again right in Snape's face.

Hermione supposed that it had to do with alcohol. Maybe it was messing up her vision: making her see her Potions Master with a red clown nose or maybe a set of bats' wings instead of ears.

Hermione didn't really care; all she knew was that Snape usually had the power to silence students just by looking at them. Generating irrational and uncontrollable laughter had to be a first and Hermione didn't think that their Potions Master liked it so far.

'Silence, you two!'

No, he wasn't liking it one bit.

'You are drunk,' he said, scrunching his nose at them.

_Such a perspicacious man. Stop it, Hermione, this is a very serious situation. You could get detention at the best, the worst would be… _

'Silence I said! Get back to your common room at once!'

However, it didn't take Dumbledore's brain to realize that Parkinson and Zabini were in no state to descend to the dungeons all by themselves without breaking their necks.

'Mr Malfoy,' Snape turned on him, 'stay with these three irresponsible Gryffindors while I take your two housemates back to their common room and warn the Gryffindor Head of House that three of her students are wondering in the corridors past hours – one of them being the Head Girl.'

He sneered at Hermione and left with Parkinson and Zabini.

_Malfoy didn't even getting a scolding for being out as well. Typical_.

Snape warning McGonagall, that was the worst that could happen.

There was silence until Snape and his two charges were out of earshot, then Hermione spoke.

'This. Is. Your. Entire. Fault,' she roared, stressing every single word.

'Now where have I heard that before?' Malfoy feigned searching his memory, 'Careful Granger, repeating yourself is a symptom of excessive use of Memory Charms. Have you full confidence in your close friends?' he added in a fake concerned voice.

'Shut up Malfoy or I'll – '

Harry stepped in, cutting her off by placing himself between her and Malfoy.

'Hermione, calm down. It's not as bad as it looks.'

'What? Are you out of your mind? This is ten times worse than it looks!'

'Looking good from here,' Malfoy put in, leering at Harry from behind.

'_Draco._' Harry spoke warningly, not quite managing to hide his blushes as well as he wanted.

'DRACO?' Hermione spat the word as if her dinner was dangerously flipping in her stomach.

'Yes, Granger. It's my name. You should seriously consider seeing a mediwizard. I can direct you to a really good one. This could get worse,' Malfoy sneered.

Harry once again eyed him meaningfully. Malfoy rolled his eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh but remained silent after that.

'Look, Hermione. We'll just have to explain everything to McGonagall. I'm sure she'll understand.'

Hermione's mouth dropped open. Had she not been so surprised, she might have snorted.

'I mean,' Harry went on, 'I've just got out of detention. That's a good enough excuse. You're Head Girl; you're allowed out after hours to chase those who aren't. And Ron… well, Ron…'

_Oh my! Ron!_

She had forgotten all about him.

Hermione spun around and found the redhead lost in what seemed deep concentration. His arms were crossed on his chest and his blue eyes were shifting their disapproving glare from Harry to Malfoy.

_God, he's got it all figured out! _

'We can just say that Ron was with you as a prefect…um… helping out,' Harry suggested.

'Er, right' Hermione said, lacking any other word.

'Still I don't think we should linger here. I mean, if Filch catches us, it'll only make things worse. McGonagall will know where to find us,' Harry reasoned.

'Harry! This… McGonagall… it's not… it's not what I want to talk about!' Hermione stammered.

'Oh,' Harry glanced nervously in Malfoy's direction.

There was an awkward silence that Harry felt was his duty to break.

'Look, we're all tired. It's been a long night. Let's just go to bed and talk about it in the morning. How's that?' He forced an unconvincing smile.

Hermione let her hands fall loosely to her side, in a sigh of both physical and mental exhaustion.

Yes, maybe that would be best. Maybe this was all a nightmare and in the morning, she would tell Harry and Ron about it and the two of them would mock her for the rest of the week.

Yeah, that was it.

Without a single word, she spun around and headed for the stairs, locking her arm in Ron's and dragging him along.

Neither of them needed to see Harry kiss Malfoy goodnight. No, definitely not.

As they walked, she gently placed her head, now feeling the size of a watermelon, on Ron's shoulder.

'This is terrible,' she said, her words muffled in his maroon jumper.

Ron didn't say anything. He knew it was useless, that nothing he could say would ever make it right; not after the realization they had come to tonight.

He just applied a comforting pressure with the arm that was already locked around her shoulders.

Once they reached their empty common room, Ron threw himself heavily onto a large armchair, facing the nearly extinguished fire. Hermione curled up against him, finding comfort in the regular rise and fall of his chest.

After a few minutes, she looked at the portrait hole and said, 'He's taking quite a lot of time, don't you think?'

'Because you're thinking he's _actually_ coming back here,' Ron snorted.

Hermione's brown eyes widened in surprise and she turned to look at him.

'He's not. Not this early anyway,' he went on.

Ron was uncharacteristically calm. Not that Hermione wasn't thankful for it, but she had expected his finding out to cause more of an outburst than hers.

'Oh Ron! What are we going to do?' she pleaded, returning to his arms.

'I don't know yet. But we'll figure it out. We'll get Harry out of this. We owe him that much,' he said determinedly.

'But what if he won't _let_ us?

'Like Dumbledore said, Harry's going to need all the help and support he can get and that's exactly what we're going to give him.'

'Dumbledore said that?'

Ron nodded gravely and continued, 'The old man's helped me realize a lot of things tonight. He might not know it now, but someday, Harry will thank us for this. Right now, he's being manipulated, he's under You-Know-Who's influence – '

'Voldemort?' Hermione raised her head again and felt Ron shiver at the mention of the name.

'Yes. To You-Know-Who, Malfoy's just another puppet. You saw earlier how Harry's become friendly with Malfoy. _Draco _this_, Draco _that,' he snorted in disgust. 'And Malfoy's pretending to let Harry be in command; shutting up at Harry's glares and all that, but I can see right through him. And I have no doubt who's _really_ in command. I'm sure all that dark magic Malfoy's using on Harry when they're alone is only You-Know-Who's way to reinforce his power over Harry. We have to find out what His plan is, come up with proof _before_ we talk to Harry about it. Where d'you reckon we should start?'

Ron was, once again that evening, looking quite pleased with himself. Hermione, once again that evening, couldn't believe her ears.

Dumbledore hadn't told Ron anything. Of course, that would've been a hilarious meeting: 'Good evening, Mr Weasley. No, your best friend and the wizarding world's saviour is _not_ possessed by Lord Voldemort. As a matter of fact, he's simply fallen for Lucius Malfoy's son.'

But surely Dumbledore hadn't cautioned Ron against his far-fetched theory. No, obviously not.

Hermione turned her heavy lidded eyes to the extinguished fire and sighed loudly.

Ron took this as a sign of despair – which it was, but for reasons he still didn't know – and softly brushed his hand against her back.

Hermione didn't quite know which was worse: what Ron imagined Harry was doing with Malfoy or what _she_ imagined Harry was doing with Malfoy. If only this had been another fight-the-evil-warlock situation, she would've known how to deal with it. Oh, how she missed the good old days with their impossible rescue missions and their villains!

But this was a matter of love, and even if she hated to admit it, love was a far greater magic than magic itself.

**FIN**

**Bonus Scene**

Tuesday You-Know-Who's Hiding Place 

'What is this? This is not what I've asked for! You know what the penalty is for making me repeat an order, Wormtail!'

The Dark Lord's terrifying, high-pitched voice echoed in the dark room whose only light was provided by a weak fire. In response, came a low sob: the intended effect. The indistinct pitiful form that Peter Pettigrew had become seemed to have curled up even more – if at all possible - at its master's feet.

'But my Lord,' the servant pleaded, 'they… it seems that…. they are nowhere to be found.'

A silence filled the dimly lit room, a terrifying silence: the calm before the storm.

'What do you mean they are nowhere to be found? You mean that YOU are not capable of finding THEM! Do not try and make it sound as though it is THEIR fault, Wormtail!'

The Dark Lord sighed; a sigh holding both impatience and annoyance. That did nothing but generate more cowering on Wormtail's side: once again, the intended effect.

'If you are unable to accomplish the simplest matters, I do not know why I bother keeping you, Wormtail, for you-'

The servant emitted a noise half way across a gasp and a choke, interrupting his master's narrative flow: _not_ the intended effect. Voldemort eyed him angrily, stepped out of the shadows and went on:

'I do not believe that I am asking for much Wormtail! Now bring me THOSE SOCKS!'

'But… but master, I think maybe we… maybe _I_ might've left them at the last place we stayed at,' Pettigrew stammered. 'However, I have brought these,' he added reaching out his open hand to his master. 'I know you are very fond of these too. You know, the little green ones with the dangling black pom-poms.'

'I didn't ask for _those_ and I don't care how fond of them you may think I am! I want the bloody red ones with the snake patterns and I want them NOW! Is that too much for the darkest wizard of all time to ask of one of his servants? To bring him the right socks?'

Just then, Wormtail really regretted not working harder in Charms. He might have then been able to come up with a spell to retrieve the oh-so-cherished socks. What was it with powerful wizards and socks anyway?

**REAL FIN**


End file.
